


For Good: The Untold Story of (The Actresses Who Played) The Witches of Oz

by Wonko



Category: Holby City, Wicked - Schwartz/Holzman
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Music, Cute siblings and their cute dates, Domestic Violence, Dorks in Love, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, It Is Musical Theatre After All, M/M, Musicals, Mutual Pining, Pining, Slow Burn, background Jac/Zosia, background Raf/Fletch, canon typical angst, or holby city tbh, you don't need to know wicked to enjoy it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-01-04 23:15:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 87,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12178404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wonko/pseuds/Wonko
Summary: When Serena Campbell and Berenice Wolfe are cast together as co-leads of the hit West End musicalWicked, it's not exactly love at first sight. Forced together by the whim of a casting director, each determined to make a success of the biggest role of their life, they will have to overcome prejudices, family obstacles and their own stubbornness. Along the way they discover a grudging respect and then a true friend in each other, but is there anything more between them? Or will their run end and find them parted for good?





	1. Once I Prove my Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena Campbell is suffering through a small part in a show she detests. One day, she receives a call that will change her life.

_Once I'm with the Wizard_  
_My whole life will change_

She got the call on her way out of the theatre after the Saturday matinée performance. There were the usual clump of die-hards outside the stage door that afternoon, but none who were particularly interested in her. She wouldn’t have expected any different - it had been a month since Nina and Fleur had come down with food poisoning and she’d got her chance at singing a major part. Now she was back to plain old Electra, a background kitten who might as well not be there.

Her phone began to ring as she stepped out into the street, playing the first three bars of _Memory_ before she could fumble her way to swiping right and accepting the call.

“Serena Campbell speaking,” she said somewhat breathlessly, trying to inject a smile into her voice. She’d answered before she had taken in the name of the caller, but she only used that ringtone for casting directors.

“Serena, how are you - Angus Farrell here,” came a loud, slightly pompous voice.

Serena blinked. “I’m very well thank-you, Angus. And you?” she replied. Her voice was still smiling but there was a slight frown on her face. She couldn’t immediately place the man or recall which show he worked on.

“I’m great Serena, thanks for asking. Listen, I’m calling to ask if you’d like to come and audition for us on Tuesday? We saw your turn as Grizabella last month - you really made an impact.”

Serena smiled, her face flushing with pleasure. “Thank-you. Yes, I’d be delighted. What time?”

“Come along at eleven,” Angus said. She could hear him shuffling papers in the background.

Serena waited for a second or two to see if any other information was forthcoming. “And, uhm, where would you like me to…”

“Oh. Sorry, I thought you would have known. The Apollo.”

Serena’s heart leapt into her throat. The Apollo meant one thing and one thing only: _Wicked_. It had been running continuously on the West End for eleven years, but it was still one of the most popular shows. She’d seen it on its opening night all those years ago with her mother, back when her career in the theatre was nothing but a dream. Seeing Idina Menzel perform as Elphaba was one of the defining moments of her entire life, shining in her memory as the day when she knew she’d never be happy doing anything else with her life but singing and dancing and acting, like her stage idols. Her childhood bedroom had been covered in posters of West End shows, and all her albums had been cast recordings. She’d been in her school’s drama club and they’d swapped illicit bootleg recordings the way some teenagers would have passed around a joint at a party.

Serena fervently believed she’d been made for the stage. There was nowhere in the world that she felt more alive than a theatre.

“Wonderful,” she said, once she’d recovered her equilibrium. She hesitated, hardly daring to hope. “And...and the part? So I know what sort of thing to prepare.”

“We’re casting Elphaba at the moment,” Angus replied casually, and Serena had to clap her hand over her mouth to keep from squealing out loud. “We’d like two songs and a monologue. Let us know in advance if you want anything unusual.”

Serena nodded, then remembered it was a phone call and he couldn’t see her. “I’ll be there with bells on,” she said. “Thank-you.”

They exchanged another couple of pleasantries, then ended the call. Serena’s face immediately split into the widest grin of her life and she laughed aloud, attracting puzzled looks from the people streaming by her on Regent Street.

Gripping her phone tightly, she flicked through her contacts. She selected the one she wanted then listened to it ring, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for Dom to pick up.

“What’s new pussycat?” he sang after four rings.

She rolled her eyes. He’d been using that nickname ever since she’d landed her miniscule role in _Cats_ six months ago. Hopefully not for much longer. “Dom, you’re never going to believe what just happened.”

“Donald Trump tweeted us into the apocalypse?” he ventured.

Serena tilted her head to one side. “Well, I haven’t checked his feed today, but there’s always a fifty/fifty chance of that,” she quipped, heading towards Oxford Circus. “But no. I’ve got an audition.”

She heard him pull in a faux-amazed gasp. “Actress gets audition, hold the front page of _The Stage_.”

She rolled her eyes. “For Elphaba. _They_ called _me_.”

She listened, grinning when she was able to pinpoint the exact moment he sat up straight. “No! Serena, you lucky cow!”

“It’s not luck!” she laughed. “They saw me as Grizabella last month. Apparently I made an impression.”

She could hear him shaking his head and took great pleasure in imagining the jealous look on his face. “You only got to do that because of Nina and Fleur spending a weekend on their knees over a toilet bowl rather than what they usually get on their knees for.” She snorted in response, lips twisting in a slightly cruel smirk. “Isn’t that luck?”

Her smirk changed into a wide grin. “Well, there’s luck and there’s ‘Oh, I’ll deliver their meals, Ric, I’m not in this scene anyway.’”

Dominic Copeland was stunned into silence for once in his life, but only for a few seconds. “Serena Campbell, did you fucking poison Nina and Fleur so you could get a weekend in the limelight?” he spluttered.

“I plead the fifth,” she said, and he snorted with laughter.

“Well done,” he said. “We’ll make a star of you yet darling.”

They said their goodbyes and hung up as Serena entered the tube station. Her mind whirled with anticipation as she tapped in with her Oyster card and descended into the underground. By the time she emerged again at Barons Court, that anticipation had transformed into nerves as she ran over in her mind what songs and monologue would make the perfect audition.

The walk back to her flat passed in a haze of half-hummed and then rejected melodies. “Carol?” she called as she opened the front door. “I’m back.”

A woman in her mid-forties with auburn hair and a kind smile appeared in the living room doorway. “Hello, Serena. How was the show?”

Serena shrugged. “The usual. Jellicle this and Jellicle that, and a lot of pointless dancing.”

Carol laughed, looking at her with a fond smile. “It’s a shame you’re not doing a show you actually like.”

Serena’s eyes twinkled. “Well, that might be about to change.” She rapped her knuckles on the doorframe. “Knock on wood.”

“Who’s there?” a voice called from behind Carol. “Who’s knocking?”

Serena winced. “Sorry mum, it’s just me.” She shot an apologetic glance at Carol, then headed past her into the living room.

The room was decorated plainly, with white walls and wooden floors. The rental agency didn’t allow any sort of personalisation. Serena supposed it made sense with the level of turnover in the rental business, but she and Adrienne had been there now for two years.

“Why aren’t you at school?” Adrienne grumbled.

Serena smiled, reaching out smoothly to fluff the pillow her mum was leaning on. “It’s lunchtime mum, and I’ve got a free period later.”

Adrienne huffed. “You should be studying. When are you submitting your university applications? There’s a lot of competition for medicine you know.”

Serena resisted the urge to sigh. Her mother had never really accepted her desire to forego academics for the arts. She’d had her heart set on Serena becoming a surgeon, or at least a GP. She had the brains for it, but her passion lay elsewhere.

Carol hovered in the background. “I’ve got to be off now, Serena,” she said. “You have Marjorie for tonight?”

Serena nodded. “Yes, she and Jason are going to come over while I do the evening show. Any post?”

“A couple of things; nothing from them yet.” They were expecting a letter from the Department of Work and Pensions. Adrienne had been reassessed the month before, to see if her condition had changed, if she’d suddenly somehow become fit for work. Because of course, Serena had ranted, early-onset Alzheimer's was a thing that just magically got better. Carol took a step forward. “I’ll see you on Monday, Mrs McKinnie.”

Adrienne’s face twisted. “Who are you?” she demanded. “What are you doing in my house?”

Serena glanced at Carol over her shoulder. “I’ll see you on Monday, Carol, thanks.”

The older woman smiled, slightly pityingly to Serena’s eyes, but she chose not to comment. When she’d gone, Serena sat down on the couch next to her mother. “Do you want me to put on Bargain Hunt for you?” she asked. Her mother never missed the programme, though she’d preferred it when Tim Wonnacott presented. The new edition of the show with different guest presenters confused her. She preferred routine and structure these days, like her grandson Jason.

“That’d be lovely, ‘Rena,” Adrienne said, patting her daughter’s leather jacket-covered arm. “How was the show today?”

Serena took a deep breath. The wild conversational and memory shifts were old hat to her by now. “Great, mum,” she said, settling down on the sofa. “Really good.”

* * * * *

The wait for her audition was the most excruciating of Serena’s life. Worse than waiting for Robbie to ask her out, worse than waiting for her mother’s DWP letter, worse even than waiting for her cue to come on as Grizabella last month.

She arrived at the theatre an hour early, but she wasn’t the first to get there. She recognised the tall, thin frame of Jac Naylor leaning against the wall by the stage door, looking as unruffled as she ever did.

“Serena,” she acknowledged smoothly, glancing up and down and seeming to catalogue and judge every item of Serena’s clothing, from her dark grey Levis to her cobalt blue button-down blouse to her omnipresent leather jacket.

“Jac,” Serena replied, trying not to bristle. Jac and she were not friends, but neither were they enemies: they respected each other’s talent and had worked together a few times in small roles here and there. This audition, if either was successful, would be the biggest role of their careers.

“How’s _Cats_?”

Serena shrugged. “Catty.”

Jac produced a genuine, if small, smile. “I can’t fucking stand that show,” she said.

“Me neither,” Serena admitted. “Hopefully won’t be in it much longer.” She leaned a little closer to Jac. “Have you heard anything about who’s in the frame for Glinda?” She’d been wondering all weekend who would be cast as Glinda the Good - it took her mind off worrying about her own audition.

Jac quirked an eyebrow. “My girlfriend’s auditioning tomorrow.”

Serena’s brows raised in surprise. “Zosia? Isn’t she a brunette?”

Jac laughed. “Wigs exist, Serena.” She nodded at the other woman’s cropped locks. “You’ll need one, if you beat me.”

Serena’s fingers tangled in the short strands of hair at the nape of her neck. She’d had to cut it last month, after the third time her mother had woken up in the night, disoriented and angry, and pulled a clump out of it.

“But I hear the great Bernie Wolfe is trying out too, so Zos isn’t getting her hopes up,” Jac added, sighing.

Serena rolled her eyes. “Oh, the _Honourable_ Berenice Griselda Wolfe is deigning to slum it with the plebs at an actual audition?” she said acidly. “I thought she just called up the shows she wanted to be in and booked herself a run.”

Jac snorted. “Bit unfair,” she said. “I’m as jealous as all hell, but she _is_ insanely talented.”

Serena’s lips pursed. Yes, that was rather the point. Talented, beautiful, rich, privileged -  Bernie Wolfe was the personification of a West-End success story. Trained by the best at RADA, she’d been getting big parts since before she even graduated. Some had whispered at first that her father, Lord Wolfe of Holby, had had a hand (or a wallet) in his daughter’s success, but it had soon become apparent that Bernie’s achievements were one hundred percent her own.

“Well,” Serena said after a moment. “Zosia is pretty damn talented herself. So don’t write off your girl yet.” Jac graced her with a larger smile that softened her sharp, harsh features. Jac was a tough nut to crack, but a surefire way through her defences was to praise her girlfriend. The two had been together for a year, since meeting in a production of _Fiddler on the Roof_ at the Savoy. It had, by all accounts, been love at first sight: not that Serena believed in such things.

“Anyway,” Serena continued. “I thought Bernie was in _Les Mis_ at the moment. They’re not due a cast refresh for a couple of months, I thought.”

Jac’s eyes gleamed briefly. “Ah, well, that’s true,” she said, tilting her head slightly towards Serena. “But the buzz is that she’s having to leave because she’s splitting up with Marcus and it’s a bit awkward for them to stay in the same show together.”

Serena’s eyes brightened. She wasn’t normally a gossip - neither was Jac, really - but a bit of scandal was just what the doctor ordered to get her nerves under control. “He’s playing Marius, isn’t he? And Bernie’s Cosette?”

“Right,” Jac replied. “And here’s the thing: they’re breaking up because one of them got caught kissing Eponine in their dressing room.” Jac paused for effect. “And it wasn’t Marius.”

Serena’s eyes widened. “Eponine? You mean Alex Dawson? Alex and Bernie Wolfe were-”

“Yep,” Jac confirmed, leaning back against the wall. “At least, that’s the rumour that’s flying around. Surprised Dom didn’t fill you in.”

Serena’s smile faded at that. Dom would indeed normally have been the one to pass gossip of this kind to her ears, but she’d barely seen him lately. She’d managed to grab an hour with him on Sunday and Monday to help her prep for her audition, but other than that he’d been spending all his time lately with his new boyfriend, Isaac.

They chatted for a bit longer until a few more people arrived and they were let in to wait inside. After that, both seemed to prefer their own thoughts to conversation. Serena was running through the lines of her chosen monologue for the thousandth time when Angus Farrell popped his head in the door.

“Serena? We’re ready for you now.”

She swallowed hard, then pasted a smile onto her face as she followed him out onto the stage.

For a moment she was paralysed, enchanted as she always was at the sight of a theatre from the stage. Rows and rows of plush red seats stretched out before her and above her, from the stalls to the circle and right up to the gods: the cheap seats she’d always had to scrape together the money to get tickets for in her youth. She allowed herself for a moment to imagine the theatre full of excited patrons, all there to see her perform a role she’d made her own.

“This is Henrik Hanssen, our director,” Angus said, breaking her out of her reverie.

Serena glanced down into the stalls to see a tall, thin man nod up at her. He was vaguely reminiscent of Peter Cushing, an impression that wasn’t helped at all when he didn’t return her open smile with anything more than a quick twitch of his thin lips.

Angus hopped down from the stage to sit beside him, grabbing a clipboard and pencil from the floor. “In your own time, Serena,” he said.

Serena took a deep breath. “I’ll give you my monologue first, shall I?”

The two men nodded in concert. “As you say, Ms Campbell,” said Hanssen. Serena thought she detected a hint of a Scandinavian accent.

Realising she’d been silent for a moment or two too long, Serena cleared her throat. “I’ve prepared a speech from _The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie_ ,” she said, then closed her eyes, imagining Maggie Smith in the role, trying to channel that fire.

“I will not resign and you will not dismiss me, Miss Mackay,” she began, and then she was off and running, nerves forgotten in the euphoria of the performance, and by the time she reached the climactic line, “if scandal is to your taste, Miss Mackay, I will give you a feast,” she was certain she was nailing it.

“Wonderful,” Angus said, clapping his hands together a couple of times as she finished. Serena flushed with triumph, breathing a little more quickly than usual as adrenaline flooded through her system.

“For my first song I’m going to give you _The Wizard and I_ ,” she said, heading over to the pianist to discuss the key she wanted it to be played in.

She’d chosen this song for two reasons: the first, obviously was that it was one of Elphaba’s signature songs and she wanted to demonstrate that she was up to the task. The second was that it so perfectly encapsulated her own feelings right now at this moment. As she began to sing, she poured all of her own hopes and longings into the song. Elphaba’s desire to meet the wizard became her own desire to be in this show; Elphaba’s need for validation became her own thirst to prove herself; Elphaba’s vision of a perfect future in which she was accepted and loved became an image of Serena on this very stage, with long black hair and green painted skin, her voice filling the theatre and hypnotising the audience until they broke into delirious, rapturous applause for her - Serena Campbell - the best Elphaba since Idina.

Her strong, natural vibrato carried the last note around the empty theatre, and then it was over. Her heart was pounding like a war-drum, but her face was flushed with pleasure and excitement. She didn’t think she’d ever sung so well in her life. And there was one more song to go.

“For my final song, I’ve prepared something a little unusual,” she said as her breathing returned to normal.

Angus looked down at his clipboard. “Ah, yes, you mentioned that. Hold on, I’ll just go and see if he’s here.”

He hopped back up onto the stage, leaving her alone with Hanssen and the pianist. She spoke to the musician for a moment, explaining the key change she wanted for the next piece. It had been written for a soprano, so she needed it slightly lowered. She had a decent range and the smooth vocal quality of a fine mezzo, but she lacked the top notes of a true soprano. This next song, in this particular key, would allow her to demonstrate both ends of her range in a way she hoped would show her vocal versatility.

“So, Ms Campbell,” Hanssen said when she returned from speaking to the pianist, “as we have a moment to ourselves, perhaps you could answer a question for me.”

Serena nodded. “Certainly, Mr Hanssen,” she replied, mirroring his formality.

The director brought his hands together in a pyramid shape. “What do you consider to be the most important aspect of this play? Its emotional core?”

Serena didn’t even have to think. “Oh, well, for me it’s the relationship between Elphaba and Glinda,” she said. “That’s the heart of it. Their journey from prejudice and dislike to grudging respect and finally genuine friendship - even love - for each other is the key to this whole production. I mean, in my opinion,” she added, backpedaling slightly as she realised she was lecturing the director on what was important to highlight in his own show. “There’s a moment at the end of _For Good_ that I particularly like,” she said, gazing wistfully into space. “ _I do believe I have been changed for the better_ …” she sang, and a soft sigh escaped her lips. “It’s so perfect, because Glinda takes the lower part and Elphaba takes the higher. It’s this perfect reversal of their vocal roles throughout the rest of the song - well, the whole show. A wonderful piece of musical symmetry, mirroring the sentiment of the song.” She smiled. “Anyway, I hope that answers your question.”

Hanssen nodded. “Admirably, Ms Campbell, admirably. Ah, I believe Mr Copeland has arrived.”

Serena turned to see Angus returning with Dom at his side. She smiled at her friend and reached out to take his hand. “Thanks,” she said softly.

“Anything for you, pussycat,” he teased, and winked at her.

Angus hopped back down to his seat. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said.

Serena turned to face Dom and smiled as she placed a hand on his shoulder. His own hand wrapped around her waist as they settled into their first positions for the dance they’d prepared. Serena wanted to show her movement skills - honed to perfection during six long months playing a background kitten in the most boring show on the West End - along with her singing ability.

The pianist began to play and she smiled at Dom as he began to lead her into the first movements at the same time as she opened her mouth to sing.

“ _I have never felt like this, for once I’m lost for words; your smile has really thrown me,_ ” she sang, feeling how well she and Dom moved together, how gentle and careful he was being to keep her steady so that she could maintain the notes of the song while they danced.

It went off perfectly, exactly as they’d practised. In what felt like no time the final notes of the song - at the very top of her range - were reverberating through the theatre, and then it was over. The biggest audition of her life. She flung her arms round Dom’s shoulders, grinning wildly into his neck as she tried to control her thundering pulse.

“Thank-you very much, Ms Campbell, Mr Copeland.”

“Yes, fantastic Serena, well done.” Angus Farrell was smiling as he looked up at them. “We’re doing callbacks on Friday, can I assume you’ll be available?”

Serena had to almost physically restrain herself from leaping into the air. “Absolutely Angus, definitely, completely, one hundred percent available.”

Dom smirked. “Show a bit of enthusiasm, Serena; they might think you’re not interested,” he murmured sotto voce. Serena smacked him hard on the shoulder in the guise of giving him a friendly pat.

“Oh, and Dom?” Angus called. “Are you busy tomorrow? We’re doing first auditions for Fiyero.”

Dom’s mouth dropped open. “I-I know. My boyfriend’s coming to try out for you. I...I mean, really? You want me to audition?”

Hanssen nodded his head demurely. “Your chemistry with Ms Campbell is extremely gratifying, Mr Copeland. And someone recently suggested to me that relationships were at the heart of this production.”

Dom stammered out his thanks and acceptance before Serena dragged him off the stage. “Show a bit of enthusiasm, Dom, they might think you’re not interested,” she murmured, and he laughed. But when they got outside, blinking in the cold light of day, Dom’s ebullience faded.

“Isaac isn’t going to like this,” he said softly, chewing his bottom lip. “He hates it when his boyfriends compete with him for roles. That’s why he and Steve split up; over that _Starlight Express_ audition.”

Serena bit her tongue, swallowing her automatic response, which would have been something along the lines of “well, if he’s that insecure then tell him to fuck off.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she said instead. “Tell him it’s all my fault. He already hates me, so there’ll be no big loss.”

Dom winced. “He doesn’t _hate_ you,” he said, but his voice was uncertain.

Serena patted his arm. “Don’t worry, darling, the feeling’s quite mutual,” she said, then breezed on, not wanting to spoil the exhilaration of the afternoon with another argument about the boyfriend who Serena strongly felt was not good enough for her friend. “So, what are you going to sing tomorrow?”

They walked together as far as the tube station at Victoria where they separated; she bound for the District line and he for an overground journey by bus.

When the call came from Angus Farrell that night that she’d made it onto the list for callbacks, she was ecstatic, but not surprised. She’d done the best audition of her life, after all, and now she was one step closer to her dream role.

All that stood between her and Elphaba was a series of chemistry tests with other actors also being considered for leading roles. Everyone always said how easy Serena was to work with.

How hard could it be?


	2. Unadulterated Loathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena attends her callback audition and finally meets the famous Berenice Griselda Wolfe.

****_What is this feeling_  
_So sudden and new?_  
_I felt the moment_  
_I laid eyes on you?_

The hopefuls gathered outside the stage door of the Apollo theatre early on Friday morning. Friends and acquaintances greeted each other with painted on smiles, but mostly they simply sized each other up. Serena spotted both Jac and Zosia huddled close together, smiling and laughing over some joke one or the other had cast into their little couple bubble. They at least seemed relaxed - though, of course, they weren’t in direct competition with each other.

Dom and Isaac, by contrast, were standing stiffly at each other’s sides, their body language closed and cold. Dom’s breathless excitement at being given a callback, expressed so shrilly to Serena over the phone on Wednesday night, seemed to have evaporated like a puddle at midsummer. His face was downcast and pale. He looked closer to nauseous than excited.

Serena narrowed her eyes as she looked at Isaac. He was a handsome man, of that there was no doubt, but his face was the only pleasant thing about him in Serena’s opinion. He was sullen, controlling and incredibly rude to her, but more to the point he had the most awful effect on Dom.

Before Adrienne’s diagnosis, back when she could take any role she was offered no-matter how far it took her from London, Serena had met Dom in a touring production of _Evita._ They were both playing unimportant background roles, but it was work, and they were both very young and just happy to be living their dreams at last. They’d become fast friends, bonding over a shared love of sarcasm, clean-cut men and the filmography of Julie Andrews. Many evenings on that run had ended with the two of them sharing a hotel room and a bottle of shiraz while watching Mary Poppins or The Sound of Music for the umpteenth time, singing along to the songs until hotel management threatened to throw them out for the sake of the other guests. Dom had always been happy then; quick with a joke at his own or someone else’s expense, and free with his time and affection.

Isaac had changed all that. When Serena was alone with Dom he was almost his old self, but whenever Isaac was there…

Serena shuddered. She missed her friend. This pale, colourless version of him was a poor substitute.

“Hey, you,” she said softly as she approached him. Dom flashed her a wan smile, but she could see his eyes flicking to his left to check Isaac’s reaction.

His boyfriend rolled his eyes dramatically at Serena’s approach. “Your fag hag’s here, I see,” he said. “I’m off.”

“I-Isaac,” Dom stammered weakly, but the other man had already gone, heading off to join a clump of blonde women - would be Glindas, Serena presumed. She wondered if any of them were the famous Bernie Wolfe.

“I see Mr Grumpy Fucker is being extra delightful today,” she breezed, turning her attention back to Dom.

Dom seemed to fold in on himself, wrapping his arms round his chest. “I need to pull out,” he muttered.

Serena blinked once in surprise, then grabbed his arm. “Dominic Copeland, don’t you dare,” she whispered fiercely. “This is the biggest chance of your life. Don’t let him ruin it.”

Dom shook his head, then covered his face with his hands, taking a deep breath. He inhaled and exhaled, his breath shaky, for long moments. “You’re right,” he said at last. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Serena glanced over at Isaac’s back and privately thought that she knew exactly what the problem was.

“It’s all right,” she soothed, patting his arm. “Try to forget he’s even here.”

Dom opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything their attention was distracted by a black cab pulling up on the kerb alongside them. The occupant - a woman - seemed to be struggling to pull a wallet from the pocket of tight skinny jeans. When she eventually managed it, she tapped a card on the cab’s contactless reader, spoke briefly to the driver (probably to apologise for having no cash - Serena often found cabbies a little crestfallen when she had to use a card, probably because it involved no tip for them) then opened the door, one long leg stretching down to the pavement as she leaned back to grab a small rucksack from the floor.

Serena allowed her eyes to travel from the tips of the woman’s booted toes, up shapely calves and firm thighs highlighted by her black skinny jeans, past a trim waist and modest chest covered by a plain white button-down shirt, and finally to the woman’s face.

She was pretty - very pretty, Serena amended - pale, but not wan, with soft dark eyes peering out from below a slightly too-long fringe. Her blonde hair fell about her ears in loose waves that looked simultaneously unkempt and styled.

With a sinking feeling, Serena realised who this had to be.

“You must be Berenice Wolfe,” she said. “Serena Campbell.” She didn’t extend her hand.

“Oh,” said the new arrival. “Uhm, yes...have we...I mean, have we met before? Call me Bernie, by the way.” Her voice was lower than Serena had expected, knowing she was a soprano, but a woman’s speaking register didn’t always line up exactly to her vocal range. If it did, Serena would surely be a contralto.

“No, we haven’t met,” Serena replied, a little stiffly. “But the famous Berenice Wolfe is hard to mistake.”

Bernie blinked, nonplussed. “I’m hardly famous,” she protested, but Dom interrupted, his eyes dancing with glee.

“Darling, you’re practically musical theatre royalty. In fact, aren’t you _actual_ royalty?”

Bernie blushed. “Of course not.”

Dom persisted. “You’re in the line of succession, though.”

Bernie glanced down at the pavement. “Only...only very low down,” she admitted. Her voice was unmistakably posh, but not obnoxiously so. It still made Serena’s hackles rise.

Before she got a chance to say anything else, the stage door opened and Angus Farrell appeared to invite them all inside. All the hopefuls trailed in after him, chatter ceasing as each individual performer turned inwards, trying to get themselves in the perfect mindset.

Serena had seen a sort-of therapist for a few sessions, years before, when she was looking for any sort of an edge in auditions. The man had endeavoured to teach her mindfulness techniques, which he’d assured her would calm her racing heart and whirling thoughts before the key moments. She tried one of the techniques now, imagining her worries and fears were clouds and using her slow, steady breathing to gently blow them away. It helped a bit; not as much as a glass of shiraz would have.

“I hate this part,” Bernie murmured, closer to her ear than Serena had expected. She flinched.

“Could you wear louder shoes, please?” she snapped. Bernie’s eyes widened in surprise at her tone, with a flicker of annoyance behind her eyes, but before either of them could say anything more, Angus was gathering them all together on the stage and re-introducing Hanssen.

“Good morning ladies, gentlemen,” the director said in crisp, calm tones. “We will be spending the morning in some group improvisational activities and moving on to the singing part of the audition after lunch. You will be expected to perform with various other candidates in order to judge your potential as a team. Everyone here is capable of playing these parts: today’s task, for Mr Farrell and myself, is to find out which of you will play them best _together._ ”

Serena glanced at Dom and smiled. She and Dom had excellent chemistry when performing, even Hanssen had said so at her first audition. She felt confident that he would be cast if she was.

And she had every intention of being cast.

 _Sorry Jac, this one’s mine,_ she thought, glancing over at the woman she considered her main rival, only to find Jac looking back at her steadily. Serena raised one eyebrow and Jac looked away, a small smile on her face.

The morning went reasonably well, Serena thought. She sparkled when paired with Dom and they were both able to show off their comic timing together. The scene she was asked to perform with Isaac called for her to be angry and spiteful, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy herself shouting at him and unleashing her sarcasm and bile with the ready excuse that it was all just acting. He had been a little wrong-footed at times, stumbling over his responses. He was a good singer and a passable dancer, that was how he got work - the acting part wasn’t his forte.

Serena was less able to judge how well she’d played against Bernie and Zosia. Both her scenes with them had been dramatic rather than comedic. She rather thought that she’d come off better partnering with Bernie though. Her improvisation had felt a little sharper, a little quicker; like some part of her had been expecting what the other woman was about to say and was prepared for it.

The production provided a buffet lunch, but Serena was too nervous to eat much. After picking at a sandwich for five minutes, she finally admitted defeat and sidled up to Dom. “He still not speaking to you?” she said, nodding her chin towards Isaac.

Dom winced. “He’s annoyed,” he muttered. “He thinks he did badly this morning.”

“He did,” piped up another voice. “Absolutely atrocious.” Both their heads whipped round to see Bernie approaching with her plate brimming with finger foods. She popped a quarter sandwich into her mouth as she arrived in front of them. “I’m sure he’ll do better this afternoon,” she continued, mumbling through a mouthful of bread and cheese. “I saw him in _Starlight Express_ last year; he’s got a good voice.” She gestured towards them. “You two were fantastic though.”

Dom’s face flushed with pleasure at the compliment but Serena bristled. “Did no-one ever teach you it’s rude to interrupt private conversations?” she snapped. “Or wasn’t that on the curriculum at Malory Towers, or wherever mummy and daddy shipped you off to school?”

She stalked off towards Jac and Zosia before Bernie could reply. Distantly she heard Bernie take in a sharp breath. “What the hell is her problem?” she said, and Dom mumbled something about nerves and the stress of the day. She felt a minor rush of shame, but shrugged it off, holding on to her annoyance and bitterness instead. Something about Bernie Wolfe just got under her skin.

The afternoon session began with Jac paired with Bernie to sing _What is This Feeling_ , the first duet that Elphaba and Glinda would sing in the show. Jac looked ever so slightly nervous - a first for her, Serena thought. Bernie seemed completely calm, as if she were waiting in the queue for coffee, not preparing to fight for a huge role. Serena sat back with Dom in the stalls, ready and eager to spend the whole of the song picking every minuscule fault with Bernie’s performance.

So, of course, the woman would have to have a voice like Julie Andrews’ vocal cords had been reincarnated.

Serena felt her jaw slacken as Bernie began to sing. Dom glanced over at her and smirked a little. “Haven’t seen _Les Mis_ recently?” he teased. “There’s a reason she gets all those parts, you know.”

Serena didn’t answer. She was too busy luxuriating in Bernie’s voice washing over her like liquid silk. Perfect pitch, warm low notes, crystal clear top notes, what seemed like an at least four octave range - she didn’t think she’d ever heard a more perfect voice.

It just wasn’t fair, she thought. Where was the justice in one woman having everything?

“She’ll walk this,” Serena murmured to Dom.

He shrugged. “She’s certainly the most experienced performer here.”

Serena shook her head. “It’s not just that. She’s amazing.”

“Thought you didn’t like her.”

“I don’t. This is professional regard. Though I don’t know why I’m surprised that a member of the aristocracy can afford the best vocal coaches and training.”

Dom snorted. “Don’t turn green yet, darling - let them cast you first.”

Serena slapped him playfully on the arm, but further retaliation was postponed by Hanssen calling her to the stage.

“Ms Campbell, we’d like you sing with Mr Mayfield for this number,” he said.

Serena glanced at Isaac, trying not to let her distaste show on her face. She was mostly successful; he a little less so.

 _As Long as You’re Mine_ was a duet between Elphaba and Fiyero; an intimate love song that ended with a passionate clinch. She did her best to emote in the performance, to relax into Isaac’s embrace, not to flinch away from his fingers wrapping around her upper arms. He held her a little more tightly than was strictly necessary, so much so she wondered if she’d find finger marks on her arms the next day. When it came time to seal the number with a kiss, neither of them seemed particularly keen to follow through, but eventually Isaac leaned forward and crushed his lips to hers. It was the definition of unpleasant - hard, unyielding, cold. She pulled back from him and instinctively wiped her mouth.

She didn’t think she’d ever performed worse with another person. She just hoped that Hanssen and Angus would see that Isaac was the issue, not her.

She wasn’t involved in the next few songs, so she sat back and listened somewhat distractedly while she studied the sheet music for her next performance. She was gratified to see Isaac continue to look bad with all the other women. Bernie actually stopped their performance in the middle of _Dancing Through Life_ to say he was gripping her too tight and could he please restrain himself. Serena smiled a satisfied smile as she saw Hanssen and Angus muttering to each other while Isaac stalked back to his seat.

She sang with Dom and they were as good together as she’d expected them to be. Their long friendship led to a comfort and ease with the intimacy of the song. When the time came for them to kiss, neither hesitated. It was nice - warm and familiar and friendly. When the song was over, she grinned and wrapped her arms round his neck.

“You’ve got this,” she murmured into his ear. Dom’s eyes flicked over to Isaac, but he managed a small smile.

“So have you,” he said, and she beamed.

The afternoon seemed to somehow simultaneously drag and pass in the blink of an eye. Whenever she wasn’t singing, Serena sat in the stalls watching the others and trying to mentally rank each hopeful.

Of the Glindas, Bernie was the obvious standout, with Zosia also impressing, particularly when she was paired with Jac. Serena supposed their relationship gave them an edge, much like her friendship with Dom helped when they performed. Of those hoping to be cast as Fiyero, Serena couldn’t see beyond Dom. Isaac was having a disastrous day. Every note was minutely wrong, either in pitch or timing, and he didn’t seem to have any chemistry with any of the women with whom he was singing.

She was less able to be objective about her own chances. She had no idea if Hanssen and Angus favoured her or Jac or one of the other hopefuls who’d come along hoping for their big break. She hoped she was impressing, but she didn’t allow herself to go further than that.

Around five o’clock, Serena finally found herself on stage with Bernie. “Ms Campbell, Ms Wolfe,” Hanssen said crisply.

They nodded to him. He didn’t need to tell them which song to sing - they’d both sung it with various other candidates throughout the day. Serena glanced at Bernie from top to toe. She looked as calm and confident as she had during her first song. The long afternoon seemed to not have affected her at all.

Serena, on the other hand, was slightly flagging. She’d been woken in the night three times by her mother and the whole day had been fraught and emotionally exhausting. Slowly and deliberately, she allowed herself a few seconds of luxury in which to feel tired, then placed those feelings in an imaginary bubble and blew them away.

“Ready for this, Wolfe?” she asked.

Bernie raised her eyebrows. “Absolutely, Campbell.”

The first notes began to play and Serena could see the exact moment Bernie slipped into character. “ _What is this feeling, so sudden and new?”_ she sang, taking a step towards Serena.

“ _I felt the moment I laid eyes on you,_ ” Serena replied, taking an answering step.

 _“My pulse is rushing.”_ Step.

 _“My head is reeling.”_ Step.

 _“My face is flushing.”_ Step.

_“What is this feeling?”_

They continued to stalk towards each other as the song progressed until they were mere centimetres apart. Their faces were close together, eyes blazing as they sang their first lines together.

“ _Loathing. Unadulterated loathing._ ”

And their voices were _perfect_ together. They seemed to soar and mingle together in the rafters, chasing and following each other like a murmuration of starlings. Like two colours mixing together to make an entirely new shade, or two flavours blending to make something greater than the sum of its parts, or two pieces of a puzzle slotting neatly together, their complementary tones just _fit_. It was like they had been born to duet.

Their movements were in sync too, and that feeling from the morning was back; the sensation of knowing just what the other woman would do. They circled each other like feuding cats, spinning away from each other one moment; returning to each other’s orbit the next. Every step, every note, every pause was perfect. By the time the song ended Serena was flushed and her eyes were gleaming.

Dom burst into spontaneous applause, and Serena’s flush turned into a blush. “Shut it you,” she hissed as she hurried back to him, leaving Bernie stranded in the middle of the stage before she too blushed and returned to her own seat in the stalls.

“You two were amazing,” Dom said, making sure his voice was loud enough to carry to Bernie too.

Serena tried to stay stony-faced, but couldn’t help her face splitting into a grin. “Really?”

Dom nodded solemnly. “Amazing.”

Another few hopefuls were still to have their turns, but nothing grabbed Serena’s attention away from musings about her own performance. She and Bernie _had_ been good together. Better than Bernie with anyone else; better than Serena with the others. Their voices were complementary, their acting likewise. She chewed her bottom lip.

What if they were both cast?

Would she be able to stand being around Bernie every day, performing with her, doing press and interviews with her? She was an amazing singer and actress, that was obvious. That was the maddening thing, the thing Serena resented the most. She could take her being pretty, rich and privileged. Probably. But ridiculously talented too? And being cast in leading roles for years and years while Serena survived on scraps and paid for her mother’s carers - just - with the very insecure and currently under review disability benefits her mother received? That was something that stuck in Serena’s throat.

She was still thinking about it as she rode the tube home, as she arrived at the flat and thanked Carol, as she prepared her mother’s supper, then stood leaning against the kitchen door, mentally bracing herself for the ordeal of the coming night.

And then her phone rang.

The ringtone was _Memory_ and the name on the screen said Angus Farrell. With a trembling hand she picked up the phone and accepted the call.

“Angus, hi,” she said, a little breathily, trying to disguise how much her heart was pounding.

“Serena,” he said warmly. “I’ll not torture you with pleasantries. Cutting to the chase - fantastic audition today. We so enjoyed seeing you.”

Serena smiled nervously. “Oh, uh, thank-you Angus, that’s very kind.”

“Not at all. So, Serena...we would like to offer you the role of Elphaba.”

Serena nearly dropped the phone. She closed her eyes, letting the euphoria wash over her. “As...as the stand in, or the understudy...or…”

Angus laughed. “As the main performer, Serena. We want you to be our star.”

A small, delirious laugh burst from Serena’s lips without her conscious thought. “Oh, God. Yes. Yes, please, thank-you Angus. I mean, yes, I’d love to. Yes.”

Angus laughed again. “Is that a yes, Serena, you sound like you’re in two minds.”

She grinned. “It’s a yes.” She cleared her throat. “What about Fiyero and...and Glinda?”

“Henrik is calling Dom as we speak,” Angus replied, and Serena clenched her fist in triumph. “And after we hang up I need to call Bernie Wolfe. I mean, after your song together we knew we needed you both. It was wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. Just think how good you two will sound after you have a chance to rehearse and really bond!”

Serena’s mood dropped the tiniest notch, but the exhilaration of being cast got her through the rest of the conversation with Angus. After they’d hung up, she leaned her head back against the kitchen door.

She and Bernie _had_ been good together. There was no arguing with that. So she didn’t like the woman. So she interrupted conversations and snuck up on people with her somehow silent shoes. So she was posh and rich and seemed to be easily getting roles Serena would kill for. Serena could draw a veil over all that, for the sake of the production. For her big chance. She could at least _pretend_ to be civil.

She was an actress, after all.


	3. Flying Solo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie leaves _Les Mis_ to start _Wicked_ rehearsals, but feels the need to return to her last show as a spectator for one last look.

_And if I'm flying solo_  
_At least I'm flying free_

“You could have fucking _told_ me, you know.”

Bernie Wolfe just continued staring at the floor, absorbing Marcus’s anger as her due, her just punishment for her deceit, her betrayal, her cowardice. She’d become fascinated by a particular knot in the hardwood flooring over the last ten minutes. It reminded her of something - perhaps the face of God, or of her father. Either was as bad, really, at least in the guilt they could induce.

“I’m sorry,” she said for the millionth time.

It was a month since she’d been caught kissing Alex in her dressing room, three weeks since she’d landed the role of Glinda in _Wicked,_ one hour since the curtain had fallen on her last performance as Cosette in _Les Miserables._ Marcus had returned with her to her flat in Holland Road, ostensibly to collect the last few possessions of his still dotted around the place, but really - as Bernie had suspected and been proven correct about - to have one last pop at her before she left his life for good.

“I mean, for God’s sake Bernie, it’s 2017. No-one gives a shit if you’re gay. You didn’t have to lead me on.”

Bernie bit back her first response, which was that actually people _did_ still care, a lot in fact, which was why depression and suicide rates among gay teens were so much higher than the general population. She swallowed her second response too, which was that he only thought the world was so evolved because he was straight, and a man, and white, and had never once had to deal with anyone thinking he was lesser because of who and what he was. Her third response was simply to apologise again.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t intend for this to happen. I was committed to you. I know you won’t believe that, but it’s true.”

He scoffed, running his hands through his cropped black hair. She risked a look up at him, noticing there was still a hint of his stage makeup around his jawline. “If this is your idea of commitment, God help your future girlfriends,” he said.

Somehow, of all that had passed between them, all the hurt she’d caused, all the bile he’d spat at her in response, this was the thing that broke her. She felt the hot sting of tears spring to her eyes. “Yeah, well, there aren’t going to be any of those so you needn’t worry,” she choked out and turned her back on him. She managed a couple of steps before she fell heavily onto the couch, folding in on herself.

Marcus hesitated for a minute. She looked so lost, so small, so unlike the confident, proud, aloof woman he’d become captivated with in auditions and performances that he felt himself soften. He crossed the room in three strides and crouched next to her. “Hey,” he said gently, placing his hand on her arm. “What is it? Look, I...well, I was angry. But I care about you, Bernie. I want you to be happy. I’m just sorry that I can’t be the one to do that for you.” He shrugged and attempted a smile.

Bernie pressed the heel of both palms into her closed eyes, pressing down until she could see lights in every colour of the spectrum flash in the darkness. “Other people can’t _make_ you happy, Marcus,” she said numbly. “That only comes from yourself.”

“Is that Lord Wolfe talking?” he asked softly, and her breath caught. He shook his head. “Well, perhaps it’s true,” he said. “And if it is...I hope you can find a way to make it happen.” He leaned forward and kissed her temple. “I’ll go now,” he said gently. “No hard feelings, okay? I’ll go.”

He collected the last of his stuff in silence. When she heard the front door open and then softly close again, Bernie finally opened her eyes. As if on autopilot, she got up and walked through the open plan living area into the kitchen where she found a nearly full bottle of Lagavulin 16 in the cupboard under the sink. She retrieved a tumbler from the dishwasher and retreated back to the couch, intending to drink and keep drinking until she’d blotted out the memory of this awful fucking day.

What hurt more than anything, more than leaving _Les Mis_ behind, more than Marcus’s justified anger, more than her father’s stony disapproval, was the look on Alex’s face as she’d left that night. Alex who had become her friend, her confidant, the person with whom she shared everything, had looked at her with such longing, but such pain too. Because it wasn’t going to work between them. Bernie had explained that the day after they’d been caught and her indiscretion had spread around the theatre - and probably around all the musical theatre circles in London, by now - like wildfire. Bernie was not in a position to offer Alex anything, she’d told her.

“But I don’t want anything,” Alex had said breathlessly. “Just you.”

“And that’s what I can’t give you,” Bernie had replied, and walked away.

She downed her first whisky in a oner, then immediately poured another. The living room door slowly swung open and she looked up sharply, relaxing when she saw it was only her brother, Cameron.

“He’s gone then,” he said, heading into the kitchen to grab a glass of his own, then joining her on the couch.

“Yup,” she said, downing her second drink. “Didn’t think you were in.”

He shrugged. “Knocked off early,” he replied. “Thought I’d make myself scarce when I heard Marcus’s dulcet tones.”

“Thanks.” She cast him a grateful glance, her smile small and sad.

He grabbed the bottle and poured himself a glass. “That’s it then?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She nodded. “Very much so.”

“And...Alex?”

Bernie set her jaw. “No.”

“Bernie-” Cam began, but she cut him off with a raised hand.

“It can’t happen.”

He sighed. “I do know what you’re going through, you know,” he said softly. “You shouldn’t keep pretending to be someone you’re not.”

She managed a small laugh. “I’m an actress.”

“You know what I mean,” he replied, his voice low and serious. “It hurts, being honest. But it’s better in the end.”

She glanced up at him through her fringe. “I’m not as brave as you, Cam,” she said. Her eyes were sad, but resigned.

She leaned forward and kissed his forehead before getting up and padding towards her bedroom. She took the bottle with her.

Unconsciousness arrived an hour later, which was not exactly the same as sleep. She woke blearily in the early evening of the next day. Her head felt like someone had slipped a chisel into a seam somewhere and applied a couple of judicious hammer taps to the handle. Blinking hard, she focused on her bedside table where she found two ibuprofen, two paracetamol, a bottle of water and a banana, as well as a note from Cameron telling her he’d be out until the early hours.

He’d been at university studying medicine when their father, Lord Wolfe, had withdrawn his support. Cam had been forced to drop out before getting his degree and now he was working as an Uber driver to afford his portion of the rent on their flat. Bernie didn’t charge him half - wouldn’t have charged him anything at all, if she’d had her way - but he insisted on contributing. What he didn’t use on paying his way he was putting aside in the hopes that he would one day be able to afford the tuition fees to complete his final year and become the doctor he’d always dreamed of being.

Bernie had offered to pay for it, but most of her money still came from a stipend from their father. Cameron had point blank refused to take anything at all that came even tangentially from him. He’d even dropped his surname, choosing instead to adopt their mother’s maiden name: Dunn.

Bernie downed the pills and water gratefully but couldn’t face the banana. She thought she might be sick just looking at it, so she quickly got up and dressed to put it out of her sight.

Casting her mind back to the night before, she found she could still remember every agonising moment of it. Damn.

Her last performance. The crowd rising to their feet for her as she returned to the stage with Marcus for her curtain call. Marcus’s anger, and then his surprising, undeserved kindness. Alex’s hurt eyes.

Alex…

Before she even realised what she was doing she was out on the street hailing a black cab. “Queen’s Theatre,” she said the to the cabby. “And I’ll give you a twenty quid tip if you don’t talk to me.”

The ride passed in blessed silence and she arrived at the theatre just as the last of the evening’s patrons were being ushered inside.

“Bernie!” said Joe, an usher she’d been modestly friendly with. “Come to check up on your replacement?

She managed a small, comprehensively fake smile. “Something like that. Any chance of a seat in the gods?”

Joe winced. “Full up tonight, mate,” he said. “Always the way when a new performer starts. Everyone wants to see if she’s up to the job.”

Bernie’s eyes fell to the pavement. “Right. Right, sorry. I should have thought.” She began to walk away, but was called back by Joe’s voice.

“‘Ere, wait a second.” He mumbled something into his walkie talkie, then beckoned to her. “Fletch says you can go up and sit with him and the rest of the lighting boys.” He winked at her. “Just don’t tell anyone.”

She beamed her gratitude and was quickly ushered inside and into a staff only area to ascend into the uppermost heights of the theatre. She made her thanks to the lighting boys but was spared much small talk as she’d arrived just moments before the show was due to start.

She chewed absently on her fingernails throughout most of the first half, glad she’d taken the painkillers and that they’d buffed the edge off her headache before she’d decided to spend the evening watching an incredibly loud show. She watched her former colleagues performing their parts and performing them well. She found herself humming along to some of the more famous melodies without quite realising what she was doing. This show had been her life for over a year - it was strange to be listening to the songs from anywhere but the wings.

Finally, Alex made her entrance. Bernie felt her breath catch. Even from this distance, even in her peasant costume, Alex was so, _so_ beautiful. Bernie’s heart began to beat faster just at the sight of her, full of a voiceless, nameless longing.

She caught the lighting boys looking at her; some in amusement, some in sympathy. She supposed the rumours about her and Alex had reached them too. Determinedly ignoring them, she waited for Alex’s solo to begin.

_“And now I'm all alone again, nowhere to turn, no one to go to.”_

Bernie leaned forward, trying to burn this moment into her memory. And somehow it seemed that Alex knew she was there because it was as if she was looking up at the lighting rig and singing directly to her.

It was impossible, Bernie thought. Even if the lights weren’t shining from this spot, she was too far away for Alex to see. But still, the illusion that Alex was singing for her persisted. The rest of the theatre seemed to drop away as Bernie listened, her heart in her mouth.

_“And I know it's only in my mind: that I'm talking to myself and not to him. And although I know that he is blind, still I say, there's a way for us.”_

It was the best performance Alex had ever given. Her feelings were raw and exposed, ranging from hopeful to disbelieving to angry, and finally resigned. Bernie felt tears prick at her eyelids.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, so softly that no-one heard it but herself.

_“All my life I've only been pretending. Without me his world will go on turning. A world that's full of happiness that I have never known!”_

She closed her eyes as Alex’s song ended, breathing deeply to calm her racing heart. With a start, she felt Fletch’s arm curl round her shoulder. “You all right love?” he asked gently, close to her ear so as to be heard over the audience’s thundering applause.

She nodded tightly. “Yeah,” she croaked. “I’m fine. Listen, I have to go. Thanks, Fletch.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she was already gone.

* * * * *

The day of the new _Wicked_ cast’s first official meet up dawned bright and clear. Bernie got up early and headed for the Apollo with plenty of time to spare. She wanted to make a good impression on the director and her new castmates. Her colleagues on _Les Mis_ had been so much more to her than simple co-workers, at least until her inability to control herself had destroyed their bond like an exploding bomb. She hoped that this new show could provide something similar to that old camaraderie.

Serena Campbell and Dominic Copeland were already there when she arrived, huddled together in the corner. She considered going over to say hello to them, but the look Serena gave her as she hesitated in the doorway changed her mind. Instead she went to join a pair of older men who were chatting by the buffet table. One she recognised as Guy Self, a legend of the West End. The other she didn’t know.

“Mr Self,” she said as she approached them. “Bernie Wolfe. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He shook her hand firmly. “Ah, the famous Bernie Wolfe,” he said. “I worked with your mother once, long ago.”

Jocasta Dunn had been, before her marriage, one of the best sopranos on the London stage. She’d given up treading the boards when she became Lady Wolfe, devoting herself to helping to manage her husband’s estate and to raising her two children, something she’d been determined to do herself, without the aid of nannies.

“Yes, I know,” Bernie said. “You’re playing the Wizard?”

Guy Self nodded, then gestured towards his companion. “This is Sacha Levy,” he said. “He’s playing Doctor Dillamond.”

Sacha shook her hand warmly and was about to engage her in conversation when they heard a chorus of laughter from the other side of the room. Bernie turned to see Serena and Dom with two other women whom she recognised from the callback auditions as Jac Naylor and Zosia March. The two women were holding hands, looking calm and comfortable and happy. Bernie felt her breath catch a little at the sight of them. Then her attention was drawn to Serena who was clearly holding court, singing something that was leaving her companions in fits of laughter.

_“I dreamed a show in days gone by, where all the scenery looked so pretty. I didn't sing one song then die. And all my costumes weren't so gritty.”_

She caught Serena’s eye. The other woman was flushed and happy, obviously enjoying being the centre of attention. Bernie gazed at her, unsmiling, and Serena’s lips curled in what could only be described as a smirk.  
_  
“I did a tap-dance and I smiled, and pathos wasn't overstated. My lips were red, my hair was styled. I didn't act so constipated!”_

The other three laughed uproariously at this and Bernie had to turn away, her face flushing hot. Guy Self looked from the group of young actors to her and back again. “I rather think she doesn’t like you,” he mused, nodding towards the still singing Serena.

“I rather think you’re right,” Bernie agreed.

So.

It was going to be a lonely run, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Serena is being pretty mean right now, but I promise there's a backstory there. All will be revealed in due course.
> 
> If anyone is as crazy as I am, you may be interested in my reference for [Bernie's flat.](http://wonkots42.tumblr.com/post/165936113270/bernies-placepdf)
> 
> Serena's little parody song is from a [Forbidden Broadway track.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aEz9WM9aIRs&ab_channel=bullfrog117)
> 
> And of course the _Les Mis_ song is [On My Own](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VjfmP7h3gBw&ab_channel=engchi93), Eponine's signature song.


	4. A Coward Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex arrives at _Wicked_ rehearsals to confront Bernie for leaving her behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: mentions of homophobia and non-graphic violence.

_A grievance to repay_

After the obligatory introductions and getting-to-know-yous and slight awkwardness of the first cast meetup, the group slowly began to gel. A natural demarcation seemed to occur between the slightly older cast members such as Guy, Sacha and Mo Effanga, who was playing Madame Morrible, and the younger cast like Serena, Dominic, Raf Di Lucca and Morven Digby, who were playing Boq and Nessarose, respectively. The stand-ins for the main roles - Jac, Zosia and Oliver Valentine - had formed a little crowd of their own, but seemed equally comfortable in the company of either group.

Bernie didn’t feel quite at home with any of them.

Serena was the undisputed queen of the cast - the lead, the life and soul of any gathering, the one who could charm and flirt her way through any room of people, familiar or otherwise. While she was not exactly _rude_ to Bernie, neither did she go out of her way to make her feel particularly welcome in her clique. And she found she had very little in common with the older cast - Mo and Sacha were both warm and kind, but their personal lives seemed to revolve around things like mortgages and children; things Bernie had limited experience with, or indeed interest in. And Guy, legend though he was, was extremely difficult to get on with; his confidence often shading into arrogance and his wit often blending seamlessly into cruelty.

All in all, _Wicked_ was not proving to be the carefree, easy job she’d hoped it would be.

Rehearsals had transferred to the Wyvern - a purpose built office/theatre space that was used by a number of London shows to house rehearsals when their main theatre was still in use by the production. As _Wicked_ was still running continuously, the new cast would be spending the next two months working outside the Apollo, transferring back for final run throughs and full dress rehearsals only in the week before their run was due to start.

On the first day of their second week of rehearsals, Bernie arrived at the Wyvern a little early. Smiling at Jim, the head of daytime security, she took the stairs up to their fifth storey rehearsal space. Arriving only slightly out of breath, she made her way to her dressing room to get ready for the day.

She smiled a little as she arrived at the door, pausing to run her fingers over the sign on the varnished wood that read _Berenice Wolfe: Glinda._

She knew that she had a reputation for landing big roles, but she privately felt that this was the biggest job of her career. _Les Mis_ was obviously popular - hugely popular - but _Wicked_ had a much younger and more dedicated fanbase; a fanbase that was known to follow the careers of their favourite cast members with devotion. She knew that, if she could make the role of Glinda her own, her future on the West End stage would be significantly more secure. And perhaps she’d even be able to use it as a springboard to make her Broadway debut. Then she’d feel like she’d really made it; like she wasn’t just riding on the coattails of her legendary mother and aristocratic father. And maybe if she lived in New York, far from her family and all their expectations, she could-

 _No,_ a voice in her mind said viciously. _Don’t even think it._

“Morning,” a sleepy voice said from behind her as she loitered outside her dressing room door. She spun round, startled from her thoughts.

“Oh, Serena,” she said, managing a small smile for her exhausted looking co-star. “You look...uhm…”

“Bloody knackered?” Serena offered with a sigh.

“Well…”

Serena shook her head as she approached her own door. It was graced with a similar sign to Bernie’s, reading _Serena Campbell: Elphaba._ Bernie noticed how Serena’s eyes seemed to rake hungrily over it, as if she too took pleasure and delight in the physical manifestation of her good fortune in being cast in her role.

“Rough night,” Serena said simply as she opened her dressing room door. “I’ll see you out there.”

Bernie hesitated for a second or two longer in the hallway, then headed into her own room. Upon entering, she realised that the place could do with a bit of a clear out. Random bits of sheet music, clothes, fast food packaging and other detritus were scattered liberally over the floor, the couch and the desk.

Instead of dealing with it, Bernie pushed a pile of stuff from one end of her tiny two-seater couch to the other, and sat down. Directly opposite her was another door, this time with no signs screwed into the surface. She regarded this door silently for a few minutes, remembering the first day she’d used this dressing room. The door had been open then, revealing that it connected to someone else’s room. Curious, Bernie had hung around in the doorway for a few moments until the owner of said other room had arrived.

It was, of course, Serena. “Oh, our rooms adjoin, do they?” she’d asked, her left eyebrow raised high onto her forehead. Bernie had simply nodded in response, and Serena’s lips had tightened. “Right,” she’d said. “Well, if you don’t mind…” And she’d reached out to close the door.

It had remained closed ever since.

Sighing, Bernie shook her head as if to chase the memory away. She had hoped...well, it didn’t matter now. She knew that the actresses who played Elphie and Glinda frequently became close friends. The closeness of the roles almost seemed to make it inevitable - for everyone except her and Serena. Serena was largely professional but distant, and she clearly had no desire to get to know Bernie beyond the bare minimum required for them to work together.

It shouldn’t have hurt, and yet somehow Bernie couldn’t help but feel a little sad that her co-star had so obviously and thoroughly rejected her, out of hand it seemed, without even needing to wait to see what she was really like.

Well. It was probably for the best anyway, Bernie thought. Far better just to focus on work in this show. She so wanted to do a good job, to be a success, to bring something different to a role on which so many actresses before her had left their mark.

Better that she could just concentrate on that. Better not to have personal distractions. That had been what got her into trouble on _Les Mis_ , after all.

With a final sigh, she grabbed the music she’d need for the day, and headed out into the main rehearsal space to join her cast-mates.

* * * * *

On the Friday of that week, Bernie arrived at the Wyvern to find Alex waiting for her, leaning against the wall next to the entrance with her arms crossed over her chest. For a moment, Bernie was frozen in place. She looked beautiful, Bernie distantly acknowledged, her hair neatly styled, her long, elegant neck wrapped in a deep burgundy scarf. With a rush of heat, she remembered burying her face in that neck, inhaling the scent of greasepaint and Alex’s perfume, nipping at the spot just behind her ear until she left a mark. “Uhm...hi,” she said at last, feeling foolish at how weak her voice sounded in her own ears.

“Hi,” Alex replied smoothly. She looked Bernie up and down for what felt like an age, before pushing herself off the wall and taking a step towards her. “You’ve been ignoring my texts.”

Bernie coloured a little, not wanting to admit that after the first dozen or so she’d simply blocked Alex’s number, for the avoidance of both temptation and guilt. “Sorry,” she said. “I just thought...clean break and all that…” She studiously avoided Alex’s eyes, staring at her boot as she absently ground the toes of her right foot into the pavement.

Alex took another step towards her. “A clean break?” she said. “You think you can just toss me aside and move on, is that it?”

Bernie’s head snapped up. “No!” she said, a little louder than she’d intended. She stared at Alex for a long moment, then looked past her and saw Raf and Morven approaching from the direction of the tube station. “Not here,” she said, grabbing Alex’s arm and dragging her towards the Starbucks across the street.

The early morning rush had just about passed and they were able to sit down with drinks within about five minutes. They chose a pair of soft leather sofas facing each other by the window, separated by a low table. Bernie sipped on her flat white without really tasting it.

“Do you remember when coffee was just coffee?” Alex asked, taking a sip of something that was apparently called a caramel macchiato.

“Strong and hot’s all I care about on a day like today,” Bernie replied, then winced when it sounded like flirting to her ears. “I mean...sorry, Alex, I-”

“Forget it, Bern,” Alex interrupted. “I know what you meant.”

They sipped their drinks in silence for another minute that felt to Bernie like a hundred years.

“Uhm...so, how have you been?” she ventured when she could bear the excruciating silence no longer.

Alex shrugged. “Marcus actively loathes me, so that’s fun. The rest of them blame me for you running off and sticking us with Amy.”

Bernie winced. “Is she...is she not good?”

Alex looked at her with hooded eyes. “You saw her, didn’t you? That night you came to the show?”

Bernie glanced away. “Oh, uh...yeah, I-”

Alex interrupted. “No, wait, you left after my first solo,” she said.

Bernie pursed her lips and took a sip of her coffee. “Fletch,” she murmured bitterly.

Alex nodded. “Indeed.” She paused for a second, then seemed to gather her courage. “Why did you come?”

Bernie shrugged. “Can’t you guess?”

“Maybe, but I want to hear you say it.”

Bernie put her coffee down on the low table between them and ran her hands through her messy blonde curls, then over her face. “Please, Alex,” she murmured. “This is hard enough.”

Alex leaned forward, her eyes flashing. “Don’t you dare fucking talk to me about hard,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “You’ve got your new show, your new colleagues, your clean break. I’m the one who was left behind to deal with the mess you made.”

“ _I_ made? I don’t remember you objecting much at the time.” Alex’s anger seemed to infect her, bringing a flush of colour to her cheeks. “A couple of clandestine clinches in empty rooms - not exactly the romance of the century, was it?”

Alex reared back as if she’d been slapped. “Don’t,” she said, her voice thick.

Bernie immediately felt regret punching her in the gut. Her brow furrowed as a hot rush of shame pulsed through her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I...I didn’t mean to make it sound…”

“Like nothing?” Alex ventured, and Bernie winced.

“It wasn’t nothing,” she admitted. “But...I meant what I said before. There’s nothing I can offer you. Nothing.”

There were tears shining in Alex’s eyes. A vein protruded from her temple, testament to the tension in her body. “I never wanted anything from you,” she said softly. “I just wanted to love you; that’s all.”

Bernie shook her head. “That’s all?” she repeated, her voice incredulous. “You say that like it’s so _easy._ Like the simplest thing in the world.”

“It could be,” Alex said. “If you would let it be.”

Bernie’s eyes slid closed as a single, treacherous tear escaped from each one to roll slowly down her cheeks. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m _sorry_.”

Bernie flinched as she felt Alex’s hand cover her own. “I know,” Alex said. “And I’m not asking you for anything anymore, Bern, I just...I just wanted to see you. One last time.”

Bernie’s eyes snapped open. “Last?” she asked, her voice a little strangled.

Alex nodded. “I’ve been offered a transfer to Broadway,” she said. “Their Eponine’s having surgery on her larynx, so…”

“Oh Alex, that’s wonderful,” Bernie said, managing a genuine smile despite the tears still shining in her eyes. “You so deserve it.”

Alex inclined her head. “Thanks.” Her eyes seemed to search Bernie’s face for something, growing darker when she failed to find it. “Well,” she said at last, “I...I’d best be off.” She gathered her things together, leaving her half-drunk coffee cooling on the table. Standing, she came round to Bernie’s side and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Goodbye, then,” she said, and leaned down to place a soft kiss on Bernie’s cheek.

And then she was gone.

Bernie sat there alone, the café swimming in her vision for another endless minute. And then she felt someone slide into the seat beside her and press a tissue into her hand.

“Chin up, Berenice,” a familiar voice said. “Let’s see some of that good old fashioned British reserve.”

Bernie blinked and looked blearily to her right. “Serena,” she mumbled, then turned her head again to see Dom settling into the seat Alex had just vacated. He slid a pain-au-chocolat in a to-go bag across the table to her.

“Medicinal,” he said. “Nothing like a bit of sugar and fat after a bad breakup.”

Bernie flushed. “It’s not...we weren’t…”

Serena scoffed at her pointless denial. “Raf’s boyfriend does lighting at Queen’s,” she said. “So...everyone knows…”

“Fletch?” Bernie muttered, and slid her eyes closed at Serena’s nod. “You’d think I’d be used to how incestuous the theatre world is by now,” she said, and sighed. So that was how Alex had known to wait for her at the Wyvern.

“That’s one thing you’ll find the acting world is very efficient at,” Serena remarked casually. “The rumour mill.”

“Yes, I’m finding that,” Bernie said, covering her face with her hands. “God, if this gets back to my father…”

“Classic ancient posh homophobe, is he?” Dom asked, leaning back and sticking his feet up on the edge of the table. “Mine was too. Well, not the posh part, but the ancient and homophobic? Absolutely.”

Bernie peeked out at him from between her fingers. “How did...did he…”

“Oh, haven’t spoken to him in ten years,” Dom said, blasé, shrugging his shoulders like he was discussing the weather. “He caught me in my bedroom with a guy’s tongue down my throat and decided that beating me unconscious would be just the ticket to get all those gay germs out.”

Bernie’s face paled. “Christ. Dom, I’m so sorry, I-”

He waved off her concern. “It was a long time ago. It’s his loss.” He regarded her speculatively. “Anything’s better than living a lie,” he said, shrugging. “It gets better.”

Bernie shook her head. “I, uh…” She coughed into the tissue Serena had given her. “I don’t think I can…”

“It’s all right if you’re not ready.” Bernie turned her head in surprise. It was Serena who had spoken. “There’s no timeline, no right or wrong way. Coming out is a very personal process.”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Bernie began, but Serena interrupted her with a snort.

“I know that having a boyfriend at the moment makes me invisible, but I do know whereof I speak.” At Bernie’s blank look she rolled her eyes and pointed to her. “L,” she said, then pointed at Dom. “G.” Finally she pointed at herself. “B.” She grinned. “We’re just one T short of a full set.”

When Bernie continued to look blank, Dom took pity on her. “She’s saying that you are part of the most fabulous cast in the West End, darling. You know, I think Sacha and Mo are the only straight people in the whole production.”

Bernie’s voice was weak and thready. “Uhm...what about Guy Self?”

“Please, that man has bitchy old queen written through him like a stick of Brighton rock.”

Bernie barked out a laugh, then clamped her hand over her own mouth to muffle the sound. “I, uh...well, now you’ve said it,” she mumbled through her fingers and Dom grinned.

Serena patted her on the back. “Okay, pep talk over,” she said. “We’ve got work to do. I believe Hanssen wants you and I working on _Popular_ all morning.”

“Right,” Bernie said. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Thanks. I...uh...I know we’re not exactly friends, but-”

“Of course we’re friends, Bernie,” Dom interrupted, frowning. “What on Earth made you think we weren’t?”

Bernie coughed nervously as her eyes darted to Serena then back to Dom. Her cheeks coloured, but she said nothing. Dom followed the path her eyes had travelled and comprehension dawned on his face.

“Serena!” he exclaimed. “You’ve got the poor girl thinking no-one likes her!”

Bernie’s blush deepened. “I don’t...I mean, it’s fine, I-”

“Don’t pay any attention to her,” Dom said, leaning forward and squeezing one of Bernie’s hands. “Her bark’s worse than her bite.”

“Oh, now he compares me to a dog,” Serena grumbled.

“Better than a bitch, darling,” he shot back.

She had the grace to look abashed. “Touché,” she said, and held her hand out towards Bernie. “I will attempt to be nicer,” she said, her brow furrowed.

Bernie took Serena’s hand and shook it. “Okay,” she said. “Uhm...thanks.” She smiled.

It wasn’t exactly a declaration of undying friendship, Bernie mused. But she would take it.


	5. Popular

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie gets closer to her cast-mates while Serena has trouble keeping her promise.

_It’s not about aptitude,_  
_It’s the way you’re viewed_

The evening was unseasonably cold. Serena told herself that was the reason for her annoyance with Robbie’s insistence that they walk from the Wyvern to the pub where they were meeting his mates from the station, but the truth was she was just tired from a long week of rehearsals and couldn’t really be bothered going out for these long-promised drinks at all. Having to walk rather than take the tube was just the rancid icing on the burnt cake.

Serena sighed as a cold breeze blew in from the north. She wrapped her arms around her own waist as she shivered, contemplating the prospect of their upcoming two mile walk with no relish whatsoever. “Robbie, I’ve been on my feet all day,” she grumbled. It was true. She’d spent most of the day working on the choreography for her dancing scene with Bernie; the part of the play where Glinda and Elphaba begin to become friends after their rocky start. The characters’ new appreciation for each other hadn’t exactly transferred over to the actresses, unfortunately - Serena was trying to keep her week-old promise to be nicer, but everything Bernie had done that day had got on her nerves. When Bernie had tried to give her advice about her footing and timing she’d blown up, screaming for the whole cast to hear that she was a professional, that she’d spent the last six months prancing around in a cat costume, and that she knew how to bloody well dance, thank-you very much Berenice bloody Wolfe.

Hanssen had decided to get them to work on separate numbers after that.

“Come on ‘Rena,” Robbie cajoled. He had come dressed for the weather, wearing a padded jacket and a warm looking navy-blue scarf. Serena eyed it speculatively, wondering how much he’d mind if she commandeered it, if only for the sake of her vocal cords. “A bit of exercise will do you the power of good.”

“I’ve been dancing for the entire day,” she replied, her voice flat and incredulous.

“It’ll do me the power of good then,” he said, his eyes flicking down to his wrist. Suddenly Serena understood. Robbie had received a Fitbit tracker from his workmates for his last birthday - a bit of a dig about how his metabolism had changed since he’d hit thirty, and his swiftly developing beer belly. He had taken the gift in the spirit in which it had been intended and had started walking everywhere, clocking up mile after mile in pursuit of his target of 15,000 steps a day. Which would have been fine - Serena was glad he was taking care of himself - but he didn’t normally involve her in his pursuit of his walking goals. Unless…

“This is for some challenge, isn’t it?” she said, one eyebrow raising to her hairline.

He grinned sheepishly. “Workweek Hustle,” he said. “Simon is 1000 steps ahead of me.”

Serena sighed, recognising that her argument had just become a lost cause. Robbie was competitive - nearly as competitive as she was herself. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” she said.

Just as they were about to make tracks, the double doors behind them opened and Dom and Bernie strode out, chatting animatedly about some TV show she didn’t have time to watch - possibly Game of Thrones, she thought.

“I’m a fan of Brienne,” Bernie was saying, to Dom’s mocking laughter.

“I’m so shocked,” he said. “I’m a Jaime man.”

“I’m so shocked,” she batted back, and they both laughed.

“Ah, if it isn’t the lovely Serena Campbell and her escort, Robbie the bobby,” Dom crowed, catching sight of them. Serena felt Robbie bristle beside her.

“Hello, you two,” she said quickly, slipping her hand into his to distract his attention from the nickname he’d always hated. “Off somewhere nice?”

Dom shrugged. “Just back to Bernie’s. We’re rewatching Game of Thrones season one. We’re about to see Ned Stark’s head come off again.”

“That’s a spoiler, if you haven’t seen it,” Bernie added.

Serena ignored her, addressing Dom again. “No plans with Isaac tonight?”

The smile slipped from his face. “He’s out with Steve.”

Serena frowned. “Steve? _Starlight Express_ audition Steve?”

“They’re just friends,” Dom said, a little too quickly.

“Right,” Serena replied, elongating it so it lasted for at least three syllables. “Trying to tie you in knots, is he?”

Dom shrugged in a parody of nonchalance. “It’s fine. All I need tonight is GoT and a G&T, ASAP.” His wide grin didn’t reach his eyes.

“Don’t worry,” Bernie said. “I’ll distract him.”

“Right,” Serena said, flashing a tight smile in her direction. “Well, we’d best be off. We’re walking to the Mallard.”

“That’s miles away!” Dom exclaimed, scandalised.

“Exercise, dear Dominic,” Serena replied. “It’s good for you.”

The four of them exchanged a couple more goodbye pleasantries before turning to head in opposite directions. Before Serena and Robbie had gone ten yards, however, the sound of running feet made her turn.

“Sorry,” Bernie murmured, and the blush on her cheeks couldn’t be entirely explained by the exertion of running after them. “But, it’s cold tonight, and you’re going quite a long way...” Her hands were at her neck, pulling off her scarf. Before Serena could say anything or object, she had wrapped it round Serena’s neck and stepped back. “You musn’t get a chill. Got to look after your voice.”

The scarf was a deep, wine red and sinfully soft - cashmere, Serena guessed. She was struck immediately by the scent clinging to it - Imperial Leather soap and some kind of apple scented shampoo and something else that was just Bernie. Not perfume, something more natural and ethereal than that. Serena felt a rush of warmth that could not be completely attributed to the scarf alone. She opened her mouth to say something, though she wasn’t sure what, but Bernie was already off and trotting back to Dom.

“That was nice of her,” Robbie commented blandly. “Is she the posh one you can’t stand?”

“Yep,” Serena replied, then winced. “She’s all right really, I suppose.”

Robbie shrugged. “Yeah, she seems okay to me. You coming then?”

“Yes, coming,” Serena murmured absently, but her eyes were still on Bernie and Dom as they headed towards the tube station.

* * * * *

The pub was loud and crowded, but Robbie’s mates had managed to grab a table and had even held on to a chair, despite the many groups of drinkers standing around and glaring at them, while being simultaneously too British to confront them about hogging the only empty seat in the place.

“Robbie!” one of the guys yelled. “Just in time to get a round in, son.”

Robbie rolled his eyes, but took everyone’s orders with reasonably good grace and headed off to the bar. Serena sank gratefully into the proffered chair, glad to be off her throbbing feet at last. “You must be the famous Serena,” one of Robbie’s friends - later introduced as Simon - said. “How did Robbie manage to nab someone so gorgeous?”

Serena bristled slightly at the implication that she was some sort of prize to be won, but let it go. She’d only been seeing Robbie for a couple of months, but meeting his friends was the next big step in their relationship and it wouldn’t do to develop a prickly reputation. So she explained how she and Robbie had met; about her mother’s condition and the day she’d slipped past her carer and gone wandering through the streets. How she’d called the police, frantic with worry, and Robbie had been the officer to respond. How he’d found Adrienne outside the local primary school frightening the reception children and insisting she’d come to pick up her daughter.

“And then I asked for her number in case of follow up enquiries,” Robbie said as he returned to the table, carrying a tray of drinks.

Serena looked up at him and smiled, reaching out to pick up her glass of shiraz. “You made me wait a few days though,” she said pointedly, raising her eyebrows.

“Well, didn’t want to look too eager,” he said, grinning. “Women like a bit of mystery in a man, don’t they?”

“The only mystery here is what she sees in you, mate!” Simon brayed, and the rest joined in the none-too-gentle ribbing. It was obvious that more than a couple of rounds had already been consumed.

Serena shook her head ruefully as she stood to let Robbie sit, then settled herself back down in his lap. God, she hated hanging around drunk people when she was sober.

Well, there was one way to fix that. “Cheers,” she said, raising her glass to her lips and taking a long pull.

She woke up on Saturday morning with a pounding headache and a throat like sandpaper. As the day progressed, the sore throat was joined by a stuffy nose, watery eyes and a deep, hacking cough that came from the very bottom of her chest.

“God damn it,” she cursed, wishing she’d taken a warmer jacket to the pub, wishing she’d got less drunk and come home earlier, and, in the end, wishing she hadn’t gone out in the first place. She remembered one of Robbie’s mates sniffling into a hankie the whole night - Matt? Craig? - and she cursed herself for having shared air with him and his germs. It wasn’t like she was overly fastidious or germ averse - no more than most people - but the thought of the damage this would do to her voice in the middle of the most important rehearsals of her life made her blood run cold.

She thought of Bernie wrapping her own scarf round her neck so gently, telling her to take care of her voice, and felt a hot rush of mortification. God, the woman would be insufferable now. She could just imagine the look of aristocratic condescension, the patronising faux-concern.  

She spent the weekend in bed as much as she was able, inhaling chicken soup, Lucozade and Lemsip, and prayed that she’d be over the worst by Monday.

Somehow, she knew she wouldn’t be.

* * * * *

When Monday arrived she practically had to drag herself out of bed. Her eyes felt heavy, like there was something pressing on them from behind. A scalding hot shower revived her slightly, but by the time she was dressed - wrapping Bernie’s beautiful scarf around her neck, if only to remind herself to give it back - she was sniffling into a tissue and wheezing at any exertion.

“Maybe you should tell Mr Hanssen you’re too ill to rehearse today,” Carol said when she arrived, frowning in concern.

Serena waved her hands dismissively. “I’ll be fine,” she croaked. “I’ll get some Strepsils on the way and load up on paracetamol.”

She took the lift up to their rehearsal space when she arrived at the Wyvern, knowing the stairs would be beyond her. Most of the cast were crowded around the refreshment table when she came in, seeming extra pleased about whatever they found there.

“What’s going on?” she asked Dom, spotting him sitting slightly apart from the rest, nursing a coffee in a Starbucks takeaway cup.

He held up the cup. “Bernie bought everyone coffee and doughnuts,” he said.

“Really?” She turned to look at the table again. “That must have cost at least two hundred quid.” She thought of her laptop at home with its Excel spreadsheet keeping tabs of every bit of income and each tiny expense and felt her mouth harden into a thin line. “Flashing the cash around a bit this morning, isn’t she?”

“Really doubt that’s her motivation,” Dom said, taking another sip of his coffee.

“Where is she anyway?” Serena asked. “I need to give her this back.” She unwrapped the scarf from round her neck, immediately missing its softness and warmth.

Dom winced. “Uhm, maybe you should wait until you’re not a plague carrier first?” he said. “I doubt Hanssen will thank you if you give Bernie whatever contagious disease you’ve got.”

Serena fell into the chair next to him just as she was hit with a sneezing fit. “It’s a cold, you bloody drama queen,” she muttered, rooting round in the pocket of her leather jacket for a tissue. As she brought one up to her nose, she spotted Bernie on the other side of the room with Zosia.

“Think of your voice like a lift and your diaphragm is the counterweight,” she was saying. “Don’t try to reach up for the note: push your diaphragm down instead.”

Serena blinked slowly twice. “Is she giving Zosia - a professional soprano - advice on how to hit a high note?” she asked in a monotonous, disbelieving voice.

“Zosia asked for her help.” Dom shrugged. “She’s been having real problems with that really high note in _No One Mourns the Wicked.”_

Serena shook her head incredulously. “Of course, because Lord Wolfe’s daughter is just overflowing with money and talent and...and...scarves.” She flushed a little at how petty and childish she sounded even to her own ears, and hoped the colour in her cheeks would be put down to her illness. “God, I know I said I’d be nicer Dom, but she is making it really bloody hard.”

“What, by being nice to people?” he replied, quirking his lips into a smirk. “You don’t fool me you know, pussycat. This ridiculous spite you have against her has nothing to do with anything Bernie has or hasn’t done.” He leaned in close to whisper in her ear. “This is about Maureen.”

Serena stared at him open-mouthed as he got up and walked over to Bernie and Zosia, joining in their conversation animatedly.

 _Maureen,_ she thought. She hadn’t thought about Maureen in years. Had she? She looked at Bernie, watching how the rest of the cast smiled at her and included her in their jokes and conversations. She watched, her mind racing, as the blonde threw back her head and laughed at something Dom had said, her dark eyes shining with happiness and glee.

“Oh God, it’s about Maureen,” Serena whispered.

Before she could think about or analyse this revelation in any more depth, Hanssen cleared his throat, attracting the cast’s attention.

“Good morning everyone,” he began, holding his hands behind his back in his usual stiff manner. “As we only have Mr Self for a few hours this morning, I have decided that we will be working on _Wonderful_ until eleven o’clock. Ms Campbell, Mr Self if you could accompany me to the stage please.”

Serena swallowed hard, immediately regretting the impulse as soon as she registered the pain the action put her in. Her voice was not up to singing, not even the small part she had in this song. Still, she followed Guy and Hanssen, hoping against hope that she could muddle through somehow.

Guy’s voice was legendary in the West End and on Broadway, and he was the consummate professional as he ran through his part of the song, hitting all his marks with an air of nonchalance, as if it were all simply too easy. Serena could feel the scratchiness in her throat building as she waited for her part to begin. As soon as she opened her mouth, she knew it wasn’t going to work. Sure enough, her voice cracked on the first line and she stopped, clutching her chest a little as she coughed and rasped.

“Sorry,” she spluttered. “I’ve had a cold, it’s playing havoc with my vocal cords.”

Guy sniffed. “A cold? Or have you just not been keeping up with your vocal exercises while you were prancing around in a cat costume for six months?” Serena’s cheeks burned at the mention of her outburst the previous Friday, her insides squirming in embarrassment at the memory of her petulant behaviour. “Perhaps it was a mistake to hire an ingénue,” Guy added caustically. Serena's eyes flashed dangerously and she opened her mouth to snap back, but Bernie beat her to it.

“Serena’s one of the best mezzos working on the London stage right now,” she said from a previously unnoticed position in the wings. “Vocal stress is an occupational hazard. It can happen to all of us, no-matter how experienced.”

Guy’s lips twisted in a sneer but he didn’t reply as he stalked off to speak to Hanssen. Serena’s eyes narrowed as she stared at Bernie. “What’s your game?”

Bernie frowned in confusion. “No game. Guy was out of order.”

Serena turned that response over in her mind for a second or two before a hot rush of humiliation forced her mouth open. “I don’t need a babysitter, Berenice, thank-you very much,” she snapped, then turned away when she felt Hanssen’s hand on her elbow.

“Ms Campbell,” he said gently, and Serena knew immediately she wasn’t going to like what he was going to say. “I think it would be best if you take a break from rehearsals for a few days. Give your voice time to recover.”

Serena paled. “You’re sending me home?”

“Just for a few days. We want you in tip-top form.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her mouth hanging open. “I’m fine,” she began to say, but he interrupted her by stepping minutely closer.

“Serena,” he said. “The few days of rehearsal you will lose by looking after yourself is as nothing compared to the damage you may do to your voice if you attempt to put too much pressure on it too soon.”

She blinked once, then twice, then finally looked away and nodded. She thought it was more his use of her given name - a first - that convinced her, rather than the impeccable logic of his argument.

She returned to where she’d left her bag and Bernie’s scarf. “Here,” she said, holding it out to the other woman, who had followed her from the stage.

“Oh,” Bernie said, shaking her head. “No. You keep it, please.”

Serena rolled her eyes. “Right, it’s covered in my germs, I suppose. I’ll wash it at home.”

Bernie’s eyes widened. “Oh, no! I mean...that’s not at all what I meant, I-”

“I’m not a charity case you know,” Serena snapped. Her eyes were a little wild now. “I may not be as rich as you but I do have my own scarves.”

Bernie took a step back. “I know that,” she said softly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Serena sighed. “You didn’t,” she muttered, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Look. I’m tired. I’m ill. I’m screwing up the biggest rehearsals of my life. Forgive me if I’m a little touchy.”

Bernie inclined her head, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Understandable,” she said gently. “But...Serena, you’re not screwing this up. You’re doing great.”

“Sweet of you to lie,” Serena replied and was immediately struck by a coughing fit. Bernie reached out to pat her on the back, but Serena ducked away. “No, no,” she spluttered. “I’m probably still contagious.”

Bernie took a step back. “Right, of course. Uhm...well, have a good rest. Get well soon.” Serena nodded, already halfway across the room.

By the time she made it out into the street, tears were pricking at her eyes. God, she could feel it all slipping away. Her big chance, her break, the biggest role of her life. She knew she wasn’t doing as well as she should be in these rehearsals. And she knew it was because she just couldn’t stop herself sniping at Bernie. Their chemistry was still there when they sang, but it wasn’t growing or developing the way she knew Hanssen had hoped it would. There was always an edge there, a tension, like a rubber band waiting to snap.

And it was all because of Serena. And Maureen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I am mad, I spent ten minutes searching for the [perfect scarf](https://www.aspinaloflondon.com/products/pure-cashmere-scarf-in-burgundy) for the scarf porn in this chapter.
> 
> I occasionally post obnoxious sneak peeks of upcoming chapters on tumblr, so [follow me](http://wonkots42.tumblr.com) on there if that's something you're into. Also for reblogs of gifs of attractive middle-aged British actresses (which I'm assuming is something everyone enjoys.)


	6. Some Of Us Are Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena is forced to take Jason with her to rehearsals, where she receives an unexpected visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Ableist language and slurs used by a total wanker. Hints of domestic abuse (not yet violent.)

_Some of us still tend to favour form over content_

Bernie flopped down on the sofa in Dom’s dressing room, watching him preen in front of the mirror with a small smile on her face. It was strange, she thought, how much she had come to like him in such a short space of time. Being with him was easy and comfortable. Their senses of humour were well matched and they’d found they could spend hours trading good-natured barbs without either taking offense. The only other man she’d ever felt this comfortable around was her brother Cam - and, she realised, she’d begun to think of Dom in a similar, familial way. It was...well, nice. And a lot more than she’d expected after the loneliness of the first week of rehearsals.

“I slept in an expensive moisture mask last night,” Dom said, lightly pressing on his cheeks with his fingertips. “Meant to bring out my inner glow. What d’you think?”

Bernie grinned. “Really?” she said. “How expensive?”

She expected a quick retort, maybe a crack about her perennially messy hair, or even just a quick note of the score for the day (she rather felt this was fifteen-love to her) but instead Dom’s eyes flicked downwards.

“Not expensive enough, clearly,” he muttered.

Frowning, Bernie sat forward until she was perching on the edge of the couch and close enough to reach out and put a hand on Dom’s knee. “You look great,” she said. “I’d consider turning for you.”

That brought a brief smile to his face. “You do realise I’d have to turn too,” he said.

“I’m game if you are.”

He looked up and met her eyes in the mirror, wincing a little. “Isaac gave me a hard time about it being a waste of money,” he admitted.   

Bernie raised an eyebrow. “Well, even if it was, it’s _your_ money to waste, surely.”

Dom shrugged. “Well…” He went quiet but then, seeing Bernie was going to ask him to elaborate, he continued. “It’s just that, it’s Isaac’s flat and the rent and all the bills are coming out of his account, so...it just kinda made more sense for my wages to go directly in there.”

There was a moment of tense silence. “Uhm...are you saying he’s taking your pay from you?” Bernie said, but Dom overlapped her so hurriedly that he didn’t even hear the last few words of her sentence.

“It’s nothing,” he said, his voice high and tight. “I can have whatever I need, I just have to ask him.”

Bernie opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again, mulling over what she wanted to say. “Uhm…” she began. “I, uh...I know I’m not really one to be giving relationship advice but I don’t really think you should be having to ask someone else’s permission to spend money that you earned.”

Dom smiled a tight, pained smile. “It’s not like that,” he insisted. “And, we love each other and I trust him, and you’re right that your relationships have all been _total_ car crashes, so let’s move on?”

Bernie leaned back, holding her hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Okay,” she said, with a small, apologetic smile. “You’re right. It’s none of my business.”

Dom inclined his head to one side. “Yup,” he agreed.

“But, Dom…” She stood up and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I hope you know that I’m your friend and I want to see you happy. And that if you ever need anything...anything at all...you only have to say. I’ll be there.”

Dom smiled, but his eyes were a little wild. “Mmm hmm.” He coughed. “I’ll see you out there, okay?”

Taking this for the dismissal it clearly was, Bernie nodded and headed off to her own dressing room. There was a knot in her stomach that she didn’t quite know what to do with. It was obvious that Dom either didn’t want or need her help. Her instinct told her it was the former, not the latter.

She glanced at Serena’s dressing room door as she headed through her own, and the knot eased a little. Dom didn’t want _her_ help. But Serena’s? That might be a different story.

* * * * *

As loath as she was to admit it, the days off had done Serena a world of good. Not only did she have the chance to get over her cold, Carol was still booked to come every day for Adrienne and - since she wouldn’t get a refund from the care agency for such a short notice cancellation - that meant that Serena was able to use her days to catch up on the sleep she wasn’t always getting at night.

Adrienne was frequently worse at night, her sleep fragile and prone to interruptions from passing traffic or drunken pedestrians on the street outside. When she woke up in the darkness, scared and confused, Serena was the only one available to get her back under control, except for the rare occasions when Marjorie and Jason would stay over; her sister bunking down with Serena and Jason on the sofa. That didn’t happen often though, because of Jason’s need for routine and structure, so for the vast majority of the time Serena was on her own.

The previous night Adrienne had woken twice, and the second time it had taken an hour to calm her back down. Serena ran her hand gingerly over a blossoming bruise on her upper arm where her mother had gripped a little too tightly. She hadn’t meant to hurt her, Serena knew that. But she was bruised all the same.

Serena glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece as she helped her mother into her favourite armchair. Carol was a little bit late. Serena had been hoping to get to rehearsals a little early, since it was her first day back, but it looked like that wasn’t going to happen. She had just delivered her mother her first cup of tea of the day when she heard a key in the lock.

“Carol?” she called, grabbing her bag. “Is that you?”

“No.”

Serena spun round to find Jason and Marjorie standing in the doorway. Jason was grinning, wearing shorts and a dinosaur t-shirt, despite the chill of the morning outside. Marjorie had a small, nervous smile on her face and was wringing her hands slightly. “Serena,” she began, her tone already placatory.

“Oh, I’m not going to like this, am I?”

Marjorie’s nervous smile slightly faltered. “Not really,” she said. “I need your help. Jason’s school’s been closed because they have to spray for fleas-”

“Fleas!”

“-and I can’t miss work today, so can Jason go to rehearsals with you? Please?”

Serena looked from her panicking sister to her grinning nephew. “Oh, Jason...you know it’s very loud at rehearsals?”

Jason, like many children on the autistic spectrum, frequently became overwhelmed by sensory inputs - it was why he never came to any of her shows. “I’ve brought the noise-cancelling headphones you got me for Christmas, auntie Serena,” he said, pointing to his schoolbag. “And I’ve got my school books so I won’t miss out on any work. Except, I can’t do science because our mould experiments are in the classroom, but mum says the fleas can’t get at them because they’re covered.”

“Oh.” Serena looked again at Marjorie’s pleading expression. “You know I’m happy to spend any amount of time with Jason,” she said gently. “I’m just concerned that the environment will be challenging for him.”

Marjorie winced. “I know. I’m sorry, Serena - I don’t think I’ve got any other choice. Unless Carol could keep an eye on him here?”

Serena shook her head. “I don’t think the care agency would let her,” she said. “They’re not insured if anything were to happen.” She sighed. “Okay, he can come with me.” She looked down into Jason’s grinning face and smiled. “You’ll need to do exactly as I say though. And do your schoolwork in my dressing room.”

Jason nodded, and Marjorie wrapped Serena in a grateful hug. “You’re a lifesaver, sweetheart,” she murmured, just as they heard Carol turning her key in the lock and calling out about a breakdown on the tube that had held her up.

That breakdown also held Serena and Jason up so by the time they arrived at the Wyvern she was forty minutes late and panicking. Sweeping into her dressing room, she cleared a pile of stuff off the desk without looking at it and quickly set Jason up with his school books and noise cancelling headphones before dashing off to find Hanssen and explain the situation.

“There’s a sight for sore eyes,” Bernie said when Serena arrived on the stage. Serena smiled in reply, but didn’t have time to say anything as Hanssen set her straight to work with Dom on _As Long as You’re Mine._

The morning passed quickly and Serena was glad that her voice seemed to have recovered over the several days of her enforced convalescence. Dom held her tightly at the end of every round of their number, accidentally pressing down on the fresh bruise on her arm. She winced the first time, but worked through the pain after that. She missed Dom’s answering grimace as she gripped his shoulders, but Bernie saw and narrowed her eyes.

“Good work this morning, everyone,” Hanssen said as one o’clock rolled round. “We’ll now break for lunch.” Almost before the director had finished speaking, Dom made his excuses and escaped to his dressing room. Serena was left stranded in the middle of the stage, her mouth still open and the question she’d been about to ask him caught in her throat.

“He’s been a bit off these last couple of days,” Bernie explained as she approached.

“Oh?” Serena frowned and bit her lip.

“I was wondering…” Bernie continued, wringing her hands a little. “What’s Isaac like? I mean, I know I met him at the auditions but I figure you’d probably…” She trailed off, hoping Serena would take her meaning.

Serena did. “Isaac is the biggest prick I’ve ever met, and I’ve met Guy Self,” she said, and Bernie snorted with laughter. “What’s the bastard done now?”

Bernie shook her head. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “It’s just something Dom said yesterday…”

Before she could elaborate, Jac called out to Serena. “Oi, Campbell. Your boyfriend’s here.”

Both Serena and Bernie spun round to see Robbie standing next to Jac, grinning and waving his hand a little. He was in his uniform, obviously taking a break from his shift. He walked over to them with a little spring in his step.

“Robbie!” Serena said, trying to decide whether to smile or frown. “What are you doing here?”

“I can’t drop in on my favourite girl?” he replied, grinning. Bernie smiled a tight little smile and withdrew, murmuring that she’d talk to Serena later. Serena watched her walk over to the refreshment table to join Zosia and Ollie, who were loading up their plates with little quarter sandwiches.

“I’m working,” Serena said softly when she and Robbie were alone.

He reached out for her hands, playing with her fingers as he spoke. “Come on, it’s only rehearsals,” he said, and Serena felt herself bristle. “Anyway, it’s your lunch break, isn’t it?”

Serena winced. “The thing is, Robbie-”

“Auntie Serena!”

Robbie turned and the smile fell from his face when he saw Jason. Serena extracted her hands from his and headed over to join her nephew. “I thought you were going to stay in my dressing room, my love,” she said, a little sternly.

“That was when I was doing my schoolwork, but it’s lunchtime now,” he replied, and Serena realised that she’d neglected to spell out exactly what to do when he wasn’t actually studying.

“It’s obvious she meant to stay in there until she came for you,” Robbie said, his tone a little short.

“No, no,” Serena soothed. “It’s all right Jason. We can have our lunch now. Did you bring your sandwiches?”

Jason had a very limited selection of foods he was willing to eat. Today it was corned beef sandwiches on white bread with an orange Fruit Shoot.

“You should have some real fruit too,” Robbie said. “You’ll get scurvy eating that rubbish.”

Jason cocked his head. “Scurvy is caused by vitamin C deficiency. My Fruit Shoot contains 100% of the recommended daily allowance of vitamin C for a child aged 9-13,” he said. “I’m ten.”

Robbie’s jaw clenched and Serena quickly ushered them both towards the refreshment table where most of the rest of the cast were milling about. Jason launched into a story about his trip to the Natural History Museum with school the previous month and how he’d noticed that a picture labelled as an Oviraptor was actually a Protoceratops.

“Oh for God’s sake,” Robbie muttered, picking up a smoked salmon sandwich from the buffet. “They’re the Natural History Museum. They know better than you.”

Jason shook his head emphatically. “No, an Oviraptor is supposed to walk on its hind legs and has a beak. A Protoceratops walks on all fours.”

“You think you know bloody everything, but you don’t,” Robbie said. “You’re just a kid.”

Jason began to become slightly agitated. “No,” he insisted. “I told them about it and they said they’d change it. They even sent me a letter. Mum framed it for me.”

Serena smiled down at her nephew. “Really, sweetheart? That’s wonderful!”

He grinned. “If I really had a sweet heart I’d probably be dead.”

Robbie rolled his eyes. “It’s just an expression, you moron.”

And suddenly everything fell silent.

Jason’s face collapsed and he looked at the floor as he brought his right hand up to rhythmically tap the heel of his hand against his temple. Serena recognised this form of stimming; it was something Jason only did when he was quite far gone, close to a meltdown. Robbie had got him to that state in seconds. One instant happy and excited; the next mired in confusion and pain. The few cast members who’d been close enough to hear what Robbie had said glanced nervously from him to Serena.

Serena’s face was dark, her eyes flashing with barely-contained rage.

“Uhm,” came a gentle voice. Serena tore her eyes away from Robbie to see Bernie crouching down to Jason’s level and smiling softly at him. “It’s Jason, right? I was wondering if you could help me.” Jason paused his relentless, repetitive movements and looked at her. His eyes focused somewhere on her forehead. Bernie’s smile became impossibly more gentle. “You see, my friend and I were watching Jurassic Park the other day and he said that the Tyrannosaurus Rex was actually from the Cretaceous period, rather than the Jurassic. And I thought, as you’re a dinosaur expert, that you could settle who was right?”

“It’s the Cretaceous,” Jason said quietly, and Serena’s heart broke at the loss of the pride and excitement in his knowledge that had been present in his tone just moments ago. “I’ve got a book in auntie Serena’s dressing room you can look at, if you like.”

“That’d be lovely, Jason,” Bernie said, glancing up at Serena, seeking permission.

Serena nodded. “Go with Bernie, darling,” she said tightly. “I need to say something to Robbie. I’ll be with you very soon.”

Jason did as he was told, trailing after Bernie towards the dressing rooms without complaint. Serena turned her attention back to Robbie as the rest of the cast quickly made themselves scarce to give them a little privacy. “Serena-” he said, but she didn’t let him get any further.

“How dare you?” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “How bloody dare you speak to him like that? He’s ten years old, for God’s sake.”

Robbie’s lips twisted in a defensive sneer. “He’s not exactly a normal ten year old, is he?”

Serena shook her head incredulously. “He’s better than normal!” she exclaimed. “He doesn’t understand cruelty. Apparently you do, all too well.”

Robbie’s cheeks turned crimson. “For fuck’s sake Serena, I hardly abused the little reta-”

He bit the word back, but the damage was done. Serena felt a hot rush of fury fizz through her blood and she reacted before the impulse reached her conscious mind. The sharp crack of her palm striking his cheek echoed through the room and he instantly took a step back, rubbing his cheek where she had struck him. Serena distantly realised that her palm was stinging.

“Get out of here,” she said, her voice deceptively calm. Her heart was thumping hard in her chest. “Delete my number from your phone. Never contact me again.”

“Serena,” he tried but she just shook her head.

“Get out,” she growled. “Get. Out. Now.”

For a moment he looked like he might defy her, but then Hanssen appeared as if from nowhere. “I believe the lady has made her wishes clear,” he said in his calm, clipped tones. “Now, this is our place of business so I’m afraid I’ll have to insist that you leave now, please.”

Robbie’s face was the colour of old brick. “Fine,” he spat. “Enjoy your pointless singing and dancing and your Swiss-cheese for brains mother and your retarded nephew.” He turned and stormed off, but couldn’t resist throwing a parting shot over his shoulder. “You’ll never find anyone else like me!”

“Yes, that’s the point!” Serena snapped to his retreating back, then turned to Hanssen, her breath coming in short, shallow snorts. “I’m sorry Mr Hanssen,” she began, but he waved her apology away.

“There’s really no need, Ms Campbell. I would suggest though, if I may, that you take a few deep breaths before you see your nephew, yes?”

Serena nodded tightly, glad when he left her alone to gather her thoughts. Below the white-hot fury at what Robbie had said, both about her beloved nephew and her mother, was a healthy dose of self-recrimination. How could she have got him so wrong? He’d seemed nice enough - he’d never really got Jason, it was true, but he’d never been purposefully cruel before. Was it just his ego? Was it that Jason had embarrassed him by knowing something he didn’t? Or - and this seemed the most likely of all - had he just been jealous of her split attention? God, how juvenile. How fragile. How...well, how male.

“This is why I should just date women,” she muttered as she headed back towards her dressing room. When she arrived, the room was empty, but she could hear the muffled sound of voices coming from Bernie’s dressing room through a gap in the slightly ajar adjoining door.

“Scientists now believe that most, if not all, dinosaurs were feathered,” she could hear Jason saying. Some of the pep was back in his voice, she was glad to hear, and she felt a rush of gratitude towards her co-star for taking him away from Robbie’s spite.

“Oh, that’s fascinating,” Bernie said softly.

Serena sank down into her chair, intending to just gather her thoughts before she went to see Jason. Just as she was about to close her eyes, she spotted a small package on her desk, roughly wrapped in brown paper and string. She suddenly recalled seeing it earlier as she was setting Jason up, but she’d been in such a rush she hadn’t registered it. She sat up a little straighter and pulled it towards her, turning over the tag.

 _Serena - welcome back._  
_In case of emergency…_  
_Bernie_

Slowly, she tore off the paper to reveal a simple, olive green toiletries bag. She unzipped it, intrigued, and then felt tears spring to her eyes as she realised what was inside.

The first thing she saw was a lemon, perfectly shaped and gorgeously yellow, with deep green leaves still attached at the top. Next was a bottle of what she recognised as an expensive brand of Acacia honey, followed by a thick piece of ginger root. Finally she found a citrus juicer and a miniature grater, like one her mother had once had for grating nutmeg.

“Oh…” she breathed, running her trembling fingers over Bernie’s gifts, then turning to look at the door between their two rooms. She could hear Bernie’s calm, soothing voice still speaking to Jason, and her nephew’s excitement building as he warmed to his subject.

Serena felt her heart clench in regret and shame as she thought of all of her sharp words towards Bernie over the last few weeks; how she’d tried to bait her and ostracize her; how she’d never really put the effort in to be kind to her, despite what she’d promised.

“Serena, you utter cow,” she muttered to herself, then buried her face in her hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaand, they're both single. Only took nearly 20,000 words, right. I guess I'll add Slow Burn to the tags.
> 
> Jason's story about correcting the NHM is totally [ripped from the headlines](http://www.bbc.com/news/uk-england-essex-40738958), as is the [flea-ridden school](http://www.bbc.com/news/uk-scotland-highlands-islands-39732778), alas.


	7. Seeing Through Different Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scales fall from both Serena and Dom's eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: the second half of this chapter gets quite heavy with references to domestic violence and abuse.

_Maybe I’m brainless_

Serena Campbell had never had an easy time admitting when she was wrong. It was because she so seldom was, she might blithely say, but the truth was perhaps a little more complex. There was no room for second-guessing herself in her chosen career. Only the very best rose to the top, and only those who were confident in their abilities - ready to advocate for themselves and fight tooth and nail for what they deserved - were recognised as the best. She’d been called arrogant before, because she had the type of self-belief that was always lauded when it manifested itself in a man. But Serena had always held her head high, always trusted her own instincts, always stuck to her guns no-matter what.

When it came to Bernie Wolfe, her instincts had been wrong.

She had allowed her own prejudices and jealousies and - she could admit it now - the Maureen situation, to blind her to what was really in front of her. A woman who matched her in ability and in her confidence in that ability. A woman who had earned every scrap of success she’d ever had. A woman who had been trying to have her back for a long time, if only Serena hadn’t been too stubborn to see it.

Serena flushed with shame as she remembered all of the ways she had twisted Bernie’s gestures in her head. She had accused her of flashing her wealth when she bought the cast coffee; of ostentatiously showing off her talent when helping Zosia; of aristocratic condescension when she offered to let Serena keep her scarf. But there was a simpler solution to all of those things.

Generosity.

Pure, simple, kind-hearted generosity.

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

Serena’s head snapped up and she turned towards the door connecting her room to Bernie’s. She hadn’t noticed when the voices had trailed off, but the surprise of the silence breaking pulled her out of her thoughts.

“I don’t think you’re stupid at all,” Bernie said, her voice soft and gentle.

Jason was quiet for a moment.

“Robbie called me a moron.”

Serena stood, ready to burst into the room and tell Jason that no, actually, Robbie was the moron and that she wished she’d done more than slap him for what he’d said, but then Bernie spoke.

“Well, I think that Robbie was wrong. I’ve known you for ten minutes and I can see that you’re a highly intelligent person. But you’ve got something more important than intelligence too. And that’s kindness.”

Serena stopped at the door, her head turned to one side to hear better.

“Who was I kind to?”

“To me, Jason. I asked you for help, and you gave it to me right away, without even knowing me. You even let me come and see your book, which was more than I’d asked for. That’s what kindness is: helping people. And being generous.”

On the other side of the dressing room door, Serena’s eyes slid closed and her heart swelled as - unnoticed and unremarked upon - Bernie Wolfe quietly set up the first foundations of a home inside it.

Bernie looked up and smiled when Serena finally opened the door. “Hi,” she said softly. “Everything all right?”

Serena nodded, smiling. “Absolutely fine,” she said, then turned to Jason and crouched down in front of him. “I’m sorry, darling,” she murmured, and held her arms open.

Jason hesitated for a second, then stepped into her embrace. Serena wrapped her arms round him, careful not to press too tightly, or make him feel like he couldn’t escape. When his shoulders stiffened she immediately dropped her arms and let him return to his own personal space.

“Where’s Robbie?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head. “Gone,” she said. “We won’t be seeing him ever again.”

His answering grin was more than enough to overcome any lingering regret about the death of yet another relationship. It wasn’t like she’d known Robbie all that long anyway, not nearly long enough for anything about him to trump her nephew’s happiness.

“I thought you liked him,” Jason said, but the grin didn’t slip from his face.

“Well, I don’t like him anymore,” Serena replied firmly. “And do you know why? Because I am your aunty and you are my nephew and we don’t need anyone else.”

Jason pondered that for a long moment. “I don’t understand relationships,” he said, then turned to Bernie. “Do you?”

“They are very puzzling,” she agreed, but she was smiling too.

Jason turned back to his aunt. “I have to do maths now. It’s one thirty. That’s when I’d be doing maths at school.”

Serena nodded, and watched him as he trotted back to her dressing room. “Leave the door open, sweetheart,” she called, watching him until she saw him slip on his noise-cancelling headphones, then turning to Bernie. “I’m sorry.”

Bernie’s smile was kind, but a little confused. “It’s not your fault your boyfriend...uhm, ex-boyfriend I guess...decided to be a prize wanker.”

“I’m not apologising for that,” Serena murmured, then looked away, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “Bernie, I-”

Bernie didn’t let her finish. “You know today’s the first time you’ve called me Bernie?”

Serena looked up, a small frown creasing her forehead. “What?”

Bernie shrugged. “You’ve always called me Berenice. I…” She trailed off for a moment, then soldiered on. “I hate my name. It was my father’s choice, apparently. I’ve always felt it...I don’t know, that it marked me out as separate, somehow. A lifetime reminder from my father that I’m expected to maintain a certain position. A role. Not one I had to audition for.”

Serena’s heart ached and she reached for Bernie’s hand. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I was...oh, God, I don’t know.”

“Marking your territory? Showing me who the alpha-mezzo is round here?”

Serena dropped Bernie’s hand. “Something like that,” she admitted, and looked away. She missed Bernie’s soft smile. “Uhm...what was it you wanted to say to me earlier? About Dom?”

“Oh…” Bernie sat up a little straighter. “I think we should go and find him, actually. If Jason will be okay on his own?”

“Oh, he’s having a whale of a time,” Serena said, waving a hand vaguely in the direction of her own dressing room. She stood up, still not quite able to look at Bernie, but smiling a tight little smile anyway.

Together, they headed into the corridor and made their way to Dom’s door. “You said it was something to do with Isaac,” Serena murmured as they stood looking at the sign that read _Dominic Copeland: Fiyero._

“I think so,” Bernie replied, just as quietly. “Listen, Serena…” She turned to face the other woman and ducked her head a little until Serena would meet her eyes. “I think he really needs a friend right now. And he doesn’t seem willing to let me be that friend, so I hoped…”

“Got it,” Serena replied. “You want me to pull his head out of his arse.” Before Bernie could speak again, Serena rapped on the door and flung it open. “Hello darling; I just slapped my boyfriend so hard my hand might be bruised and told him to fuck off out of my life forever - care to join me?”

To her surprise and absolute mortification, Dominic burst into tears.

* * * * *

Bernie was deputised to go and tell Hanssen that the three of them were indisposed. She left them with Dom and Serena sitting close together on the sofa, Dom sobbing onto her shoulder and Serena softly patting him on the back and murmuring quiet words into his ear.

Tears were really not Bernie’s area of expertise. Her family had not exactly been big on the expression of emotion. In fact, she could not recall her father actually expressing any feeling but anger throughout her entire childhood. He had been quite good at expressing anger though; good at creating a climate of ever-present tension as his wife and children waited for whatever small thing would set him off next.

Bernie’s mother, Jocasta, had borne the brunt of his moods in her and Cam’s early childhood, shielding them from the worst effects. When they became teens, however, Lord Wolfe’s ire had switched to Cam and stayed there for more than a decade. Bernie was able to get between them sometimes, but more often than not Cam bore his father’s disapproval and anger alone.

But he had never cried.

When she returned to Dom’s dressing room, Dom was dabbing his eyes with a cloth handkerchief, his face flushed and his mouth a tight, thin line.

“It’s nothing,” he was saying. “I just didn’t sleep well and you caught me at a bad moment.”

Serena rolled her eyes in Bernie’s direction. “He’s jumped on the denial train,” she said, then turned to Dom. “I have seen you cry exactly three times, Dominic Copeland.” She raised one finger in the air. “When Julie Andrews surprised Lady Gaga at the 2015 Oscars.” She held up a second finger. “Fucking Brexit.” A third finger made its way into the air. “And now. So don’t tell me this is nothing.”

He sighed, but stayed silent. Serena looked to Bernie with something like desperation in her eyes.

Bernie pulled a chair over and placed it about a foot from Dom. She sat down slowly, gathering herself, taking a deep breath.

“Uhm...when my mother met my father, he seemed like a dream come true,” she began slowly. “I mean, he was sort of the stereotypical ideal man that we’re all supposed to want - handsome, privileged, rich. And for a while they were happy, I think.” She paused for a second. “And then things started to change. The first thing was he didn’t like her working. He didn’t think that being a musical theatre diva was an appropriate job for Lady Wolfe. So she gave that up.”

Dom was still staring at the floor, but Bernie could tell he was listening. His jaw was set, his rear molars grinding together. A vein had popped on his temple.

Serena was staring at Bernie, transfixed, a look of slowly dawning horror on her face.

Bernie coughed nervously, and pushed on. “And that was the end of her having her own money. We were rich, or so everyone said, but mother always looked poor. She never had any new clothes. Never anything for herself. Unless she had to be on his arm somewhere, then he’d appear with something. Something he’d chosen.” She gently placed her hand on his knee. “When did Isaac start keeping your money, Dom?”

She heard Serena’s sharp intake of breath, but she kept her eyes trained on Dom.

He took a deep, shaky breath. “When I started this job,” he admitted, then shrugged. “He was so angry about me getting this role instead of him. He said I, uh, put him off on the day of the callbacks. And then he said that at least I’d be bringing more money in now and…”

“And he suggested that it’d be easier to just use one bank account?”

There was silence for a second, then Dom’s face crumpled. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders silently shaking.

“Oh, darling…” Serena slid her arm around him, curling her hand round his shoulder and squeezing gently.

“Ah!”

There was no mistaking the gasp of pain. Bernie frowned, remembering how he had winced while singing with Serena that morning. “Dom…” she said slowly. “Take off your shirt.”

Serena’s head snapped up. “What the-” she said sharply, but then her face paled as she realised what Bernie was suggesting.

“You’re not my type, darling,” Dom said, but he couldn’t even bring himself to smile.

“Please,” she said gently. He was silent for a long, seemingly endless moment, then nodded in resignation.

Slowly, he reached up and began unbuttoning his shirt.

His torso was painted in shades of red and purple. Some of the marks were fresh and some were obviously a week old or more, yellowing slightly at the edges. Bernie raked her eyes over his chest and shoulders as he finally shrugged his shirt off. The injury on his shoulder looked the newest - Bernie guessed it had been inflicted that morning. She and Serena stared at him for what felt like minutes as Dom seemed to wilt and wither under their gaze.

“I’ll kill him.”

It was Serena who’d spoken. Bernie looked at her. The brunette’s face was dark and thunderous. She looked even angrier than she’d been with Robbie, and Bernie hadn’t thought that was actually possible.

“I can handle it,” Dom muttered, starting to pull his shirt back on, wincing as the movement stretched the muscles of his shoulders and back.

“How long?” Serena demanded. “How fucking long has that bastard been doing this to you? Jesus Christ Dom, why didn’t you tell me?”

Her voice had risen until it was just the wrong side of a shout, and Bernie could see Dom beginning to close in on himself. She reached out and grabbed Serena’s hand, feeling the other woman still at her touch.

“Because then it would all fall apart and Isaac’s convinced him it’d all be his fault,” she said softly.

Tears sprung to Dom’s eyes again. “I should be able to handle this,” he said, his voice harsh and raw. “I’m supposed to be a _man.”_ His voice cracked on the last word. Bernie felt her heart break at the despair and hopelessness in his voice and reached out to grab his right hand, just as Serena took his left. The three of them formed a small circle, each holding one of the other’s hands for a long, quiet moment.

“You _are_ a man,” Bernie said insistently. “Masculinity is not the capacity to inflict and endure violence. That’s just a heap of shit he’s trying to get you to swallow to justify the way he treats you.”

Serena nodded, squeezing his hand. “This is not a reflection on you,” she said. “This says nothing about you. This is not your fault, darling.”

Dom sucked in a series of shallow, unsteady breaths. Bernie could see his desire to believe what they were telling him, his desperation to accept the absolution they offered. But she could also see his pain, could practically hear the voice in his head telling him that it was all his fault, that he should have been able to stop it. She knew that voice: it had spoken to her many times over the years, when she was clearing up the aftermath of one of her father’s rages, or comforting her weeping mother, or bandaging yet another of Cam’s injuries. She knew how insidious that voice was; how difficult it was to silence.

Serena sighed. “Come home with me,” she said. “Come on. Don’t go back to him. Please.”

Dom blinked and two tears rolled down his cheeks. “I can’t,” he murmured.

“Come on,” Serena insisted. “You can bunk down with me. I know I’m single now, but I promise I’ll restrain myself from falling in love with you.”

Dom managed a tiny smile that soon fell away. “It’s not that,” he said, and Bernie understood.

“He means because he’ll know to look for him there,” she said softly.

Serena’s face was stricken, her cheeks pale. “Oh. Oh, God…”

The decision took no thought at all, in the end. Bernie found herself speaking before the thought had fully crystallised in her mind. “That’s why he’s going to come and stay with me.”

Dom and Serena looked up at her simultaneously, and she almost smiled at the wide-eyed surprise on both their faces.

“I mean it. There’s more than enough room. Cam and I have a bedroom each, that leaves you a choice of two.”

“You have four fucking bedrooms in _Kensington?_ Do you bleed money? _”_ Serena said reflexively, and that was what finally got Dom to laugh, a short, strangled, barking sound.

“Didn’t you hear the part where she said her family’s stinking rich?”

Bernie smiled. “I’m serious though. Let’s talk to the money people and get your wages going to the right account. And come home with me tonight.”

Dom took in a deep, trembling breath. Bernie held her last gulp of air in her lungs as she waited for his decision. She wouldn’t force him; she knew it had to be his choice or the leaving wouldn’t stick.

“Okay,” he whispered at last and Bernie released the breath she’d been holding. She gripped his hand tighter, and could see Serena doing the same. “Okay.”

Bernie barely had time to take in his reply before she suddenly found herself wrapped in Serena’s arms. “Thank-you,” Serena whispered, squeezing her shoulders tightly. Bernie belatedly brought her own arms up to return the embrace, her hands resting lightly just above Serena’s waist. The other woman sighed. “Thank-you so much.”

Bernie coughed, and smiled a little. “You don’t need to thank me,” she murmured. “Anyone would do the same.”

Serena pulled back and gazed seriously into her eyes. “No,” she said, softly and firmly. “Only the kindest people would do this.” She trailed her hands down Bernie’s arms and took her hands. “I think you might be the kindest person I’ve ever met. And I’m sorry it’s taken me until now to see it.”

Bernie had to look away, her face burning. Serena squeezed her hands, but didn’t let go. After a moment, Bernie found herself squeezing back.

“Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s go and find out who to talk to about this money issue…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of an odd chapter this - kinda transitional. The last chapter was really the climax of the first arc of the story, and this one has quite a different vibe. I'm a bit nervous about it. Hope it's okay.


	8. Just to Clear the Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie and Serena get Dom settled into Bernie's flat. Serena finally reveals the real reason she's been so unfriendly to Bernie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank-you so much to everyone who's commented, especially on chapter 7. I was feeling a bit down about that chapter, and you guys really made me feel so much better about it. It's thanks to you that this one got written so fast.

_I ask forgiveness,_  
_For the things I’ve done you blame me for_

After the somewhat seismic events of lunchtime, the final afternoon of that week’s rehearsals was basically a wash. Hanssen agreed to spend the rest of the day working with the stand-ins and Bernie, Dom and Serena spent the time in Dom’s dressing room discussing their plan of attack.

Dom’s plan was to go to Bernie’s place, set himself up in one of her spare rooms, and hope that Isaac would just let it go.

Serena’s plan was to go to Isaac’s flat, take everything that Dom owned, then throw everything Isaac owned onto the pavement and set fire to it.

Bernie’s plan was to go to Isaac’s flat, take as much of Dom’s stuff as they could fit in Cameron’s car, and then perhaps not commit arson.

Serena countered this with the offer to only set fire to Isaac’s clothes.

“I’m just saying, I think he deserves to come home and find a heaping pile of ash where his favourite Paul Smith shirts used to be, that’s all,” she said.

“That’s as may be,” Bernie replied firmly, “but I think coming home to find an empty flat where Dom used to be will be message enough.”

Dom sighed. “Please, pussycat,” he said. “Let’s go with the less insane option. For me?”

Serena’s face softened. “Fine,” she grumbled. “I still think we should take every last fish finger from the freezer, though.”

Isaac had pointedly informed Dom on his way out the door that morning that he’d be out until late with Steve, so the plan was to go round to the flat straight after rehearsals finished. Serena had explained the situation to her sister who had agreed to meet her back at her flat and spend the night with Adrienne. Cameron had been deputised to pick the three of them plus Jason up at five o’clock - they would drop Jason off at Serena’s, then take Dom to Bernie’s place. Bernie and Serena would then go and do what needed to be done at Isaac’s flat alone, with Cam keeping watch for Isaac out by the car. Neither woman had felt it was a good idea for Dom to be there, just in case Isaac changed his mind about going out, or came back early. He had argued, but neither of his friends was inclined to back down and the two of them united proved to be an immovable force.

“Make a list of what you need the most,” Serena said. “We’ll deal with all of it.”

Which was how the two of them found themselves in Dom and Isaac’s bedroom at six o’clock in the evening, folding jeans and shirts and boxer shorts into a suitcase and trying not to jump every time one of them heard an unexpected noise.

“I knew he was a bastard, but I never imagined he was capable of this.”

Bernie stopped what she was doing and looked up. Serena was busy folding clothes and cramming them into the open suitcase, but her face was drawn and troubled.

“Abusers condition their victims into keeping their secrets,” Bernie said gently. “You couldn’t have known. It isn’t your fault.”

A tear dropped onto the grey t-shirt Serena was holding. She rubbed at the dark spot it had left, but only succeeded in making it worse. “I know that,” she said, but her voice sounded unconvinced.

Bernie opened the middle drawer in the bedside cabinet next to Dom’s side of the bed and picked up a pile of neatly rolled socks. “We’ve got this, Serena,” she said firmly, dropping them into the suitcase. “Don’t beat yourself up about the past. Concentrate on helping him now.”

Serena took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “This must be difficult for you too…”

It was the first verbal acknowledgment of what she’d begun to reveal in Dom’s dressing room. Bernie felt her back stiffen, but forced herself to relax. “I never got anywhere near the worst of it,” she said softly, after a moment. “And it’s better now. Well, I mean, I think mother has probably just become better at avoiding what sets him off. And Cam hasn’t seen him for years.”

“Sounds like an awful lot of walking on eggshells…” Serena glanced at Bernie’s profile, chewing on her bottom lip, wondering if she was saying too much.

“Yes,” Bernie agreed with a sigh. “It is, rather.” She took a deep breath, and threw a brief smile Serena’s way. “Pussycat?”

Serena barked out a laugh, accepting the change of subject with good grace. “Ah, yes. He’s called me that ever since I landed that role in _Cats._ I’d rather hoped he would stop once I escaped.”

“Not a fan of _Cats_?” Bernie asked, turning her attention to the bottom drawer of Dom’s bedside table, where she found boxer shorts and sleeping shirts.

“The animals, yes - though the rental agency won’t let us have one,” Serena replied. “The musical, no. I think it’s bloody awful.”

Bernie lowered her voice, as if about to impart some dangerous heresy. “So do I.”

Serena waved a triumphant hand in the air. “I have literally never met an actor who thinks that show’s any good,” she said. “How the hell did it get so popular?”

Bernie shrugged. “Search me.” She dumped the last of Dom’s clothes into the case. “I think we’re done in this room. He wanted some photos and stuff from the living room, I think.”

“You go ahead,” Serena said. “He’s entrusted me with the location of his porn collection and I promised I wouldn’t let you see.”

Bernie laughed. “You mean he’s got a stack of dirty mags round here? How retro.”

Serena’s throaty chuckle followed her into the living room, where she made swift work of collecting the things Dom had requested - a framed picture of him with Serena; a photo album full of pictures from his childhood; some souvenirs from the one trip abroad he’d taken in his life - to Barcelona, with Serena.

There were several photos of Dom and Isaac together dotted around the room too and something inside Bernie balked at the idea of leaving those - it was like leaving a little piece of Dom behind for Isaac to keep. “Nope,” she muttered, and busied herself tearing Dom out of all of the pictures she could find, leaving Isaac alone in the frames.

“Oh, I like your style,” Serena said as she emerged from the bedroom. “Come on; I think we’ve got everything.”

Bernie studied her, eyes narrowed. Serena’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling with something that looked very like triumph. “Have you set something on fire?” Bernie demanded.

Serena laughed. “No,” she said. “I may have written a few choice words on his duvet with a bottle of HP sauce. All of them Anglo-Saxon.”

Bernie shook her head, but she couldn’t suppress her grin. “Well, anything less than arson is a win, I suppose. Come on then.”

It took thirty minutes for them to pick their way through London traffic to Bernie and Cam’s place. When they arrived, Dom had been making himself at home.

“I’ve been to the off-licence,” he said as Bernie, Cam and Serena entered the flat. He gestured to the bottles of whisky, gin, vodka and wine he’d laid out on Bernie’s coffee table. “I’d like to get completely trashed. How about it?”

“Oh fuck yes,” Serena muttered, making a beeline for the shiraz. “It has been...quite a day.”

“Serena dumped her boyfriend, before all this happened,” Bernie explained to Cam, gesturing towards Dom and the drinks and his stuff piled up on the living room floor.

“Here’s to the single life,” Serena said, and took a healthy swig of shiraz directly from the bottle.

* * * * *

Three hours later, they were all pleasantly sloshed - far enough gone to be giggly and loud; not far enough to have turned morose. Someone had put on a Blu-ray of the 2012 movie version of _Les Mis_ and Serena was wondering - loudly, and with many four letter words - why the producers had cast so many people who couldn’t bloody sing. In a musical.

“Also, Eddie Redmayne - why is he in fucking everything?” she demanded.

“No idea,” Cameron slurred. “Well, except that he’s kind of...pretty and non-threatening.”

“So am I!” Serena exclaimed, and the other three burst out laughing.

“Says the woman who slapped Robbie into next week and wanted to set fire to Isaac’s flat.”

“Just his clothes,” she huffed. She reached out for the bottle of shiraz she’d been drinking and brought it to her lips. “Empty,” she grumbled. She looked around, searching for another bottle. “Dom, did you only buy two bottles of shiraz?”

He winced. “I didn’t think even you’d be able to down two by yourself.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s like you don’t know me at all.” Turning to Bernie and Cam, she turned on her brightest, most radiant smile. “You two poshos seem like the type to have a wine-cellar.”

Bernie shook her head, grinning. “These two poshos are a whisky family,” she said, pouring herself another glass. Dom had bought some cheap blended monstrosity at the off-licence. Bernie had immediately broken out the good stuff.

She and Cam were sitting sprawled out on the floor, their long legs tangling together in an easy, familiar way. Serena and Dom had commandeered the sofa at some point during the night. Serena’s eyes narrowed as she looked down at them, then she grabbed the cheap whisky bottle. “I suppose I’ll have to make do,” she said primly, pouring herself a rather large measure of the amber liquid. She raised the glass to her lips and grimaced as she swallowed. “Oh Christ, that’s like TCP.” She immediately poured another glass, to Bernie and Cam’s amusement. “So,” she said, waving generally in the direction of the two siblings on the floor. “Which of you is older?”

Cam raised his hand. “That would be me,” he said.

“By twenty minutes,” Bernie added. “He was born ten minutes before midnight on one day and I came along ten minutes after midnight the next day.”

Serena frowned. “So, you’re twins? But you have different birthdays?”

Bernie nodded. “Yup. We are rare and wonderful creatures.”

“Yes, you are,” Dom agreed. His voice was low and suddenly serious. “Uhm...thanks - both of you. I...I’m not sure what I’d have done if you hadn’t let me-”

“None of that,” Cam interrupted gently. He sat up straighter and reached for Dom’s hand where it was resting loosely on the arm of the couch. He threaded their fingers together. “You’re a friend of Bernie’s, and that makes you a friend of mine. Our friends are welcome here, anytime, for any reason.”

“Yup,” Bernie agreed. “For as long as you want.”

Serena looked from Dom to Bernie, her eyes gentle. When she saw Dom begin to tear up, she cast about the room for a distraction. Her gaze fell on the piano sitting against the opposite wall. “Do you play?” she asked Bernie, gesturing towards it.

Bernie looked round. “Oh...uhm, yes. Piano lessons are kind of mandatory for us poshos.”

Serena grinned, standing up and reaching out for Bernie’s hand. She hauled her to her feet and dragged her over to the instrument. “Good-oh,” she said. “Let’s play something.”

The two of them settled down together on the piano stool, Bernie on the left and Serena on the right. “ _Heart and Soul_?” Bernie suggested, her fingers caressing the keys.

Serena watched the other woman’s hands move across the piano, thinking how long and elegant her fingers were, how naturally they flowed over the keys. “Yes,” she said. “ _Heart and Soul_.”

They played together for a few moments, finding their rhythm together, judging each other’s pace, nudging each other with their shoulders and grinning. Then Serena began to sing. “ _Heart and soul. I fell in love with you heart and soul, the way a fool would do...madly. Because you held me tight. And stole a kiss in the night.”_ Her voice was warm and smooth as butter, the copious amount of alcohol she’d drunk somehow making her sound even better.

Bernie smiled, her fingers moving over the keys in perfect time with Serena’s. “ _But now I see what one embrace can do; look at me_ ,” she sang softly in reply to Serena’s verse. “ _It’s got me loving you madly. That little kiss you stole._ ”

Serena turned her head to the left, her eyes tracing over Bernie’s profile as she sang. She opened her mouth to join in, and they sang the next line together. “ _Held all my heart and soul._ ”

Bernie turned to her and smiled softly as they played the last few notes. “We duet really well together,” she murmured.

“Mmm,” Serena agreed. “Pretty sure that’s why they cast us.”

Bernie grinned, then glanced over at the sofa. Dom and Cam’s eyes were closed, soft snores emanating from both. Their hands were still linked. “Lightweights,” she scoffed. She made to get up, but Serena placed her hand on her knee, keeping her in place.

“Bernie,” Serena began, her voice low and nervous. “I...I want to apologise to you.”

Bernie hesitated. “There’s no need,” she said, but Serena shook her head.

“There is. I…” She swallowed. “I want to explain why I’ve been so awful to you. Honestly, I didn’t even realise myself why I was doing it until he pointed it out to me.” She nodded towards the sleeping Dom.

Bernie turned her attention back to the piano and began playing a quiet tune she’d made up herself. She concentrated on the keys, trying not to look at Serena. She knew her eyes would reveal how much she’d been hurt by Serena’s casual cruelty towards her, and she didn’t want to burden Serena with that - not after the day they’d all had. What did it matter now, anyway? Except that Serena seemed to really need to get it off her chest. “Go on then,” she said softly.

Serena took a deep breath. “Maureen,” she murmured, as if that was all the elucidation anyone could require.

Bernie waited and frowned when no further explanation was forthcoming. “Who’s she?” She smiled, a little ruefully. “Some ex of yours who did you wrong, with blonde hair and brown eyes?”

To her surprise, Serena laughed. “Oh no, nothing like that,” she said, then winced. “That would be a little less embarrassing than the truth. No, uh...Maureen is...well, was...a role.” She cleared her throat. “Maureen Johnson.”

Bernie raised an eyebrow. “From RENT?” she said. “I didn’t know you were in that show.”

Serena smiled, a little sadly. “I wasn’t. But I was supposed to be.” She sighed and began fiddling with the seam of her jeans. “It was two years ago,” she said. “We were three weeks from opening night. It was my first decent sized role after years of bit parts and background characters and touring productions.” She sighed. “And then, my mother…” She trailed off and her breath caught. Bernie’s hands stilled on the piano keys, the music fading into silence. “Mum’s got Alzheimer’s,” Serena continued after a moment. "Early-onset. She’d been having problems for a long time...hiding it from us, from my sister and me, I mean. But she was making too many mistakes at work and she lost her job. And then she lost the house, and...well, that’s when it all blew up.”

Bernie placed a gentle hand on her arm. “You had to pull out of the show?”

Serena nodded. “Marjorie couldn’t look after her - she’s got Jason to worry about. And my dad died when I was fifteen, so...I was the only one.”

“I’m sorry,” Bernie said softly.

Serena shrugged. “It is what it is,” she said. “My name was mud with casting directors after that. It’s not like there aren’t dozens of good mezzos competing for every part - why risk an unreliable one? When Angus called...God, I couldn’t believe it. I thought ‘Finally. Finally my luck is going to change.’”

“And it did,” Bernie said. “Look at you. You’re starring in one of the biggest shows in the West End.”

Serena smiled ruefully. “I know,” she said. “I keep telling myself that, but…” She glanced at Bernie, her eyes dark and guilty. “I keep wondering, when we open, who’s going to be coming to see me? Me, with my amazing CV of bit parts? When you’re there.” She swallowed. “It’s my big chance and...I can’t shake the feeling that no-one will even notice me, next to you.”

Silence pooled between them for a moment. Bernie took her hand from Serena’s arm and dropped it into her lap. “But you’re amazing,” she said, frowning.

Serena snorted out a derisive laugh. “Really? I’m thirty years old, and this is my first major role. It hardly compares to your career.”

Bernie shook her head. “You know as well as I do that this business is as much about luck as it is about talent,” she said. “If your father was Lord Wolfe and your mother was Jocasta Dunn, you’d have had the same success as me. I understand the leg-up I got in the beginning.”

“Bernie, no,” Serena said urgently. “That’s not what I meant at all. You’ve earned every bit of success you’ve had.”

“So have you,” Bernie insisted, turning towards Serena and meeting her eyes. “You’ve had some bad luck, but they don’t cast anyone but the best for Elphaba. You’re here because you deserve to be, and everyone will see that. I might be a draw for some in the beginning - but you’re what they’ll come back for.” She ducked her head as Serena looked down, chasing her eyes. “I mean it, Serena. You’re a wonderful singer and a fantastic actress. _You_ are the star of this show.”

A warm, comfortable silence descended between them, covering them like a warm blanket. Serena’s heart ached with the knowledge of how badly she’d treated Bernie. And yet, she had been forgiven, and forgiven easily. She remembered something her father had told her once, long ago - that forgiveness was not something a person earned. It was a gift; a precious gift from one person to another. And somehow that was so perfectly Bernie: kind and generous and so willing to put her own pain aside to assuage another’s guilt.

Serena’s bottom lip trembled. “How are you so nice?” she murmured. “I’ve been awful.”

Bernie shrugged. “Not completely,” she said, smiling a little. “Not that you didn’t have your moments.” She held out her hand. “How about we start again? Hi, I’m Bernie Wolfe.”

Serena reached out and slid her hand into Bernie’s. “Serena Campbell,” she said. “I have a feeling we’re going to be great friends.”

Bernie nodded. “Definitely.” She grinned, pulling her hand from Serena’s before sliding her arm round the other woman’s shoulders. “Definitely.”

Serena slipped her arm round Bernie’s waist and pulled her a little closer. Leaning into her embrace, she made a silent promise, then and there, that she would do whatever it took to earn the second chance she’d been offered. She would prove herself worthy of Bernie’s forgiveness; her generosity; her friendship.

Bernie reached out with her left hand and began to absently play a few notes. Serena grinned as she recognised the song. It was _Chopsticks_ , the first tune she’d ever learned to play as a duet. She brought her right hand forward and began to join in as best she could, one handed. They played together, both smiling so hard their faces ached as the notes mingled, not releasing each other from their loose, one-armed embrace. Behind them, Cameron and Dom snored on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are, of course, many versions of _Heart and Soul_ , but this is [the version I was listening to](https://youtu.be/WkxqiYdeALw?t=49s%0A) while writing.


	9. After All, She Had a Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie's father visits the rehearsals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: deadnaming.

_Are people born Wicked? Or do they have Wickedness thrust upon them?_

It was hardly the first time Serena had woken up with a hangover but it was definitely the first time she’d woken to find herself in a strange bed with no memory of how she’d arrived in it. She had always been quite careful about that sort of thing, never losing control unless she felt completely safe and secure. She blinked her bleary eyes open, feeling like they’d been glued shut at some point in the night, and found herself in a small single room, lying fully clothed on a small single bed.

 _Excellent,_ she thought. _Clothed is definitely a plus._

As was being alone, even if she still didn’t quite know where she was. The room was fairly barren, neutrally decorated with white walls and wooden floors. A guest room, definitely. Turning her head a few centimetres to the side, she spotted a bedside table with a lamp and a bottle of water resting on it, along with a note and a strip of paracetamol.

She fumbled for the note.

_Serena,_

_I thought you might need some painkillers today. There’s a toilet immediately to the right when you leave the room, and you’ll find the kitchen and living room just a little further down the hall._

_Bernie_

Smiling, Serena grabbed the painkillers and water her thoughtful host had provided. She downed two of them and then quenched her parched throat with the entire 500ml bottle of water in five long gulps. Immediate concerns dealt with, the fact that she desperately needed to find the toilet Bernie had mentioned in her note became quite apparent. Her head swam a little as she sat up and her stomach lurched.

“Don’t throw up,” she mumbled to herself as she staggered out of the room and into the toilet. “Do not throw up.”

Pressing concerns taken care of, she splashed some water on her face and stared at herself in the mirror Her eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks were pale. Her mouth felt like a small furry creature had died in it and she had no doubt her breath smelled positively rancid. She felt sticky and uncomfortable from sleeping in her clothes, her body having done its best to sweat most of the alcohol related toxins out overnight.

It had been a hell of a twenty-four hours. In quick succession she’d had to deal with Jason tagging along to rehearsals, Robbie being a monumental prick, the revelation of Dom’s abuse at the hands of Isaac, and stepping into the lion’s den to rescue Dom’s belongings before setting him up in one of Bernie’s spare rooms.

That last part had involved an inordinate amount of alcohol. And Bernie. In fact, everything she’d gone through over the last day had involved her in some way, and Serena felt a warm stream of gratitude flow through her as she thought of Bernie’s calm, steadying presence; her gentle treatment of Jason; her gallant defense of Dom; her gracious acceptance of Serena’s apologies.

Emerging from the toilet, Serena smiled to see the woman herself loitering in the hallway just outside the door to the kitchen. “Hi-” she began to say, but Bernie held up a finger to her lips to quiet her. Eyebrow raised, Serena came closer.

“He still texting?”

The voice came from the kitchen, carrying - slightly muffled - through the closed door. It was Cameron. Serena stopped by Bernie’s side and cocked her head to listen.

“Yeah,” Dom replied. Serena heard a soft thunk - probably his mobile hitting the table. “Each one somehow more vicious than the last.”

“I’m sorry.”

Dom sighed. “It’s okay.”

“It isn’t,” Cam protested. “Him treating you like this is the opposite of okay.”

There was silence for a moment. Serena met Bernie’s eyes in a silent question. Bernie smiled slightly and shook her head.

“I suppose I feel like I invited it, somehow,” Dom admitted softly. Serena’s eyes widened. “Is there a sign on me that only bastards can read that says ‘treat me like shit’? I mean, my father...Isaac…”

“Hmm.” Cameron’s voice was soft and neutral. “So, you think that because this has happened to you that you must somehow deserve it?”

“Maybe.” Serena imagined him shrugging, staring at his hands.

“Right,” Cam said. “Well, my father beat me nearly every day for ten years. Did I deserve that?”

“No!” Dom replied instantly, outraged.

“Of course not,” Cameron said. “It’s obvious, isn’t it - when it’s about someone else. You’d never dream of blaming another victim for their own abuse, would you? But when it’s you…”

“It’s different.”

“It feels different,” Cam allowed. “But it isn’t. Here’s a revolutionary idea - why don’t you try being as kind to yourself as you would be to someone else?”

Serena turned to look at Bernie, her eyes gentle. “Wise man, your brother,” she whispered. Bernie just nodded, her face shining with pride.

* * * * *

When rehearsals started again on Monday, everyone could feel the change in the air. Suddenly, numbers that had been slightly off were right; duets that had clashed became melodious; performances that had been lacklustre were sparkling. The mood affected the whole cast, but it was obvious that it was Serena and Bernie’s new understanding that was the epicentre of the new feeling that had taken over the production. The tension - ever-present from the moment they had both been cast - was gone, replaced by laughter, smiles, give and take, and an obvious mutual respect. Hanssen was quietly ecstatic in his own way, which translated to being a little more lenient about breaks and his mouth turning up an extra fraction of a degree whenever someone put in an excellent performance.

“Fletch is going to be disappointed,” Raf confided to them on Thursday lunchtime. “We had a bet on which of you would quit first.”

Serena frowned. “What?”

“You know,” Raf said. “Two actresses of equal status and ability in one show? You have to admit, it was looking like it would end in tears.”

“We’re trained theatre professionals, Raf, not a couple of tigers scrapping over a kill.” Bernie shook her head, befuddled. “And anyway, equal ability perhaps, but Serena is the star.”

“Oh, tosh,” Serena murmured, flushing. “Our headshots are the same size in the programme.”

Raf was grinning. “Well well, Serena Campbell sharing the limelight,” he said smugly. “Who would have thought?”

Serena rolled her eyes. “Which of us did you have your money on anyway?” she said.

Raf held his hands up. “Oh no, I’m not falling for that,” he said, laughing. “I’m just glad you two have put whatever it was behind you. It’s a much happier theatre this week.”

That was something that could not be denied.

They rehearsed _Popular_ that afternoon and it clicked like it had never clicked before. It was mostly a Glinda song, with Serena’s only contributions being acting and reacting to what Bernie did. For the first time since they’d started rehearsing, Bernie was loose and relaxed when she began the song. It needed to be playful, irreverent, a little bit flirty - she had always been just a little reserved, a little hesitant to throw herself into it. The differences this time were small, but their effect was huge. The number was suddenly a joy rather than a slog, and when it was over Serena couldn’t suppress a delighted laugh as she threw her arms round Bernie’s neck.

“That was fantastic!” she exclaimed.

Bernie’s cheeks were pink and her eyes gleamed. “Do you really think so?” she asked, a little breathless.

“Just wonderful.”

“Yes, we do seem to have turned a corner,” Hanssen said. Serena jumped a little. For a moment she’d almost forgotten anyone but Bernie was there. “Ms Wolfe, a word if I may.”

Bernie frowned slightly, but followed Hanssen to the wings obediently. Serena watched them go, her eyes narrowing a little in concern. Dom came up to her holding out a bottle of water which she took with a grateful smile. “Any idea what he wants?” she asked, gesturing towards Bernie and the director.

“Nope,” he said, watching her watching Bernie. “I’m glad you’ve warmed up to her.”

“Got over myself you mean,” she replied, sipping her water.

He shrugged. “You said it, pussycat.”

“Yes, well…” She turned to him, smiling ruefully. “You were right. About me, about her. She’s great.”

“Oh, I know. Best landlady in London.”

Serena laughed. “In that she lets you stay rent free?”

Dom blushed a little. “Only until my finances recover,” he said defensively.

Serena winced. “Sorry, bad joke.” She rested her hand on his arm. “I still think you should go to the police, about Isaac.”

Dom shook his head, his spine stiffening. “I just want to forget about it,” he said. “He hasn’t texted for a couple of days now. If I keep my head down…”

Serena sighed. “Okay,” she said gently. “But I’m here for you if you change your mind.”

He nodded, and then their attention was drawn to Hanssen announcing that they should take a short break. Serena looked over and saw that Bernie had gone.

* * * * *

Bernie walked away from Hanssen with her stomach tied in a tight knot. He was here. He had actually put in an appearance _here._

She couldn’t remember the last time he’d shown enough of an interest in her career to visit a rehearsal. He would turn up to opening nights, pronounce his judgment - usually negative - on her performance, and that would be that. It was true he had been rather displeased when she had informed him she’d left _Les Mis_ \- he had actually approved of that role; the show’s longevity lending it a certain legitimacy in his eyes.

She stopped outside her dressing room door, her heart in her mouth, her hands shaking. Slowly, deliberately, she sucked in three deep breaths.

 _He won’t do anything,_ a voice in her head insisted. _It’s too public._

She took another breath and opened the door.

He was standing in the middle of the room looking around her space with a slight curl of disdain on his lips. Flushing a deep red, Bernie looked around at the disarray in her dressing room - clothes, empty bottles and food wrappers, random sheet music.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “Housekeeping never was my specialty.”

She swept through the room quickly, clearing things away and tidying while her visitor watched without speaking. When the room was once again in some semblance of order, she stopped and faced him, her eyes resting somewhere in the middle of his chest rather than on his face.

“Hello, father.”

“Berenice.”

Bernie closed her eyes and braced herself.

* * * * *

“Where do you suppose Bernie disappeared to?” Serena said as they began to head towards her dressing room.

Dom shrugged. “Search me,” he murmured, then lapsed into silence.

Serena frowned, but said nothing. Dom’s bruises had begun to fade, but he was still a little more introspective than he used to be, a little more prone to melancholy and quiet. Serena hoped that he would begin to return to his old self now that he was free of Isaac’s malign influence, but she knew that getting over the trauma would take more than a few days’ worth of distance.

When they entered Serena’s dressing room, it was immediately obvious where Bernie had gone. The door that connected their two rooms was wide open, and a man’s voice could be heard floating through from the other side.

“...still simply do not understand why you left a perfectly good show for this...American rubbish.”

Serena’s ears pricked up as she heard Bernie’s response. She sounded flatter than Serena had ever heard her; her voice monotonous and weak.

“It’s a good show,” she was saying. “One of the longest running on the West End.”

Dom frowned at Serena. _Who’s she talking to?_ he mouthed silently. Serena shrugged.

“Not as long running as _Les Mis,_ ” the gruff male voice replied.

Intrigued, Serena crept forward towards the open door, intending to take a little peek into Bernie’s room. With an air of nonchalance, she leaned into the room, just long enough to get a glimpse of Bernie and her visitor.

The first thing Serena noticed about the man talking to Bernie was his height. He was tall, taller even than Bernie; at least six foot three, and broad-shouldered. More than that, he had a presence that was about more than his size - she felt that he would have dominated the room even if he had been a dwarf. He was balding, with thin, wispy white hair growing around the sides of his head. The suit he wore was expensive and well-tailored; his black shoes polished to a mirror shine.

Bernie was leaning against the counter, her back to the mirror, with her arms folded tightly across her chest. She was staring at her feet, shifting her weight nervously and chewing on her lower lip.

Serena ducked her head back into her own room, her heart pounding. She met Dom’s eyes and swallowed. He mouthed his question again and she just shook her head and held her finger to her lips.

“This is a much bigger role than I had on _Les Mis,”_ Bernie said softly.

Her visitor grunted. “That’s as may be, but you’re still not the lead, are you?”

“We’re co-leads,” Serena said instinctively, then clamped her hand over her mouth. The voices next door silenced and she cursed herself.

 _Oh, you just couldn’t keep your big mouth shut, could you?_ she thought ruefully. _Oh well. In for a penny_.

She breezed through the door, holding out her hand to Bernie’s visitor. “So sorry, couldn’t help overhearing,” she said, turning her most dazzling fake smile onto him. “Serena Campbell. You must be Lord Wolfe.” She shook his hand firmly. Her smile came nowhere near her eyes. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

He grunted. “Have you indeed,” he said, looking towards his daughter. “You’re Berenice’s co-star, are you?”

“That’s right,” Serena said smoothly. “Co-star, co-lead, whatever you like.”

Lord Wolfe looked down on her, his eyes cold. “Which one of you appears first in the programme?”

Somehow, Bernie managed to fold in on herself just a little more. Serena’s jaw hardened. “We appear together,” she said tightly. “There’s no show without Glinda. Ask anyone who knows _Wicked_ and they’ll tell you that there’s no denying we are equals.”

Slowly, Bernie raised her head. Serena met her eyes and tried to transmit her steadiness, her support through her gaze alone. Bernie’s shoulders straightened a little. Her face relaxed.

“Hmm,” Lord Wolfe said, then looked away from Serena, dismissing her. “Berenice, when do you intend to visit your mother next? She is so isolated on her own at Holby.”

Bernie swallowed. “Uhm...she could always come down here for a few days,” she suggested. “She could stay with me. I have the room.”

Her father flashed her a cruel smile. “You know your mother doesn’t care for London these days, Berenice.”

Bernie flinched. “Right,” she said softly. “Well...I shall endeavour to get up to see her before we open. Although the rehearsal schedule is quite intense.”

“I’m sure your co-lead here can pick up any slack,” he remarked acidly. “Incidentally, have you seen Camilla?”

Bernie stiffened. “No,” she said carefully. “I haven’t seen Camilla in years.”

Lord Wolfe grunted again. “Good,” he said, then checked his pocket watch. “Must go. I’m having drinks with Geoffrey at the Garrick.”

Bernie nodded. “All right. Thank-you for dropping in, father.” Her voice could not have sounded less grateful, but her father didn’t seem to notice.

“I shall see you on opening night,” he said. Then, with a final contemptuous glance at Serena, he left.

Bernie exhaled shakily and collapsed onto the sofa, running her hands through her messy curls. Her hands were trembling.

Serena shook her head ruefully. “Well, he’s everything you said he’d be, isn’t he?” she said. “I take it his arrival is what Hanssen wanted to talk to you about.” She looked down at Bernie on the sofa, frowning as she took in her hunched shoulders, her pale cheeks. “Are you all right?”

Bernie nodded. “I’m fine,” she said, but her voice was a little shaky.

Serena sat down next to her and laid a comforting hand on her arm. Bernie seemed to melt into her touch and within seconds Serena found herself enfolded in a loose embrace. She brought her own arms up to Bernie’s shoulders and pulled her closer, feeling the other woman relax against her after a brief moment. “Thanks,” Bernie said softly into her ear. “It’s not often someone stands up to him.”

Serena squeezed her shoulders. “Well, you never have to thank me for butting in on a private conversation and being rude to an old dinosaur.”

Bernie pulled back and barked out a surprised laugh. Dom appeared in the doorway and chuckled along with her.

“You’ve got quite the turn of phrase, pussycat,” he said, leaning against the doorframe.

Serena smirked. “It’s part of my charm.” She looked towards the door that led to the hallway. “So that was the infamous Lord Wolfe of Holby, hmm?” she said. “He’s older than I expected.”

Bernie nodded. “Yes, he’s twenty years older than mother,” she said. “He was in his forties when Cam and I were born. Never exactly an involved parent.”

“You shock me,” Serena replied, deadpan. Bernie laughed again, a little colour returning to her cheeks. Her eyes were shining, slightly wetter than normal, but Serena didn’t think she was likely to burst into tears. Not anymore, at least. She nodded, satisfied with her intervention. “Who’s Camilla, by the way?”

Bernie sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh,” she said. “Uhm...well, that’s a bit...complicated.”

Serena looked at her blankly. “You said you hadn’t seen her in years,” she prompted.

Bernie nodded. “Yes. I...well, Camilla, uhm, changed and...I mean...that is to say…” She trailed off with a deep sigh. “Look, it’s really not my place to tell you this, actually…” She looked at Dom, as if appealing for help.

He pursed his lips. “Come on Serena, don’t make her say it,” he said. “Use that lovely big brain of yours.”

For a moment Serena still looked blank. Then enlightenment dawned.

Camilla.

Cameron.

_Cam._

“Oh!” she said, her eyebrows raising to her hairline. “Oh, I see.” She rewound the conversation between Bernie and her father in her mind, re-examining it in the light of this new information. “Your father doesn’t use Cameron’s real name?” Her lips twisted in disgust. “Just when I thought I couldn’t despise him more.”

Bernie blinked. “Uhm…” she began, but Serena was in full flow, thinking of everything she’d learned about Cameron in the last few days and suddenly understanding things she’d found puzzling before.

“Is this why he stopped paying his uni fees? Jesus, is this why he _beat_ him? My God, Bernie, your father is a _bastard.”_

“Uhm,” Bernie tried again. “I know that-”

“I mean seriously!” Serena said, throwing her hands in the air and rising to her feet. “What an arsehole. Good God Bernie, if he comes back here you may have to physically restrain me from giving him a piece of my mind-”

“Serena!” Bernie said forcefully, finally breaking through the brunette’s outraged monologue. Serena stopped pacing and turned to look at her. Bernie grinned. “Finished?”

Serena blushed. “Sorry,” she said.

Bernie waved her hand placatingly. “It’s okay. It’s nice, actually...knowing someone else has got his back. And mine.” She looked up at Serena through her overlong fringe, pleased and shy and ever so slightly awkward. Serena felt her heart clench.

“Always,” she said seriously, reaching out and grabbing Bernie’s hand. “I mean it, Bernie. I’m here for you. Either of you. Both of you.”

Their eyes met and held, and Serena felt light somehow, like she had passed a test. Perhaps she had - the first test of her promise to herself to be worthy of Bernie’s friendship, of her and Cameron’s openness and kindness.

Bernie smiled. “You’ll be my first port of call,” she said softly. "After all...we are equals."

Serena grinned. "You're never going to let me forget that, are you?"

"Not on your life."

A tiny blush rose from Serena's chest to her cheeks, but she didn't let go of Bernie's hand. Neither of them noticed when Dom quietly slipped back into the other room.


	10. One Short Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie, Serena and Jason enjoy a day out together in London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a little over a week since my last update - this is due to me being back at work now, so updates are going to be a bit slower from now on. Still aiming for at least one a week though.

_We're just two friends..._  
_Two good friends..._

Bernie, Cameron and Dom quickly fell into a comfortable rhythm, living together. Bernie had her own bathroom off her bedroom and the boys drew up a bit of a rota for the bathroom in the hallway, and hardly ever squabbled over the hot water. They took turns to cook and usually ate together, sometimes with Serena on the nights when Marjorie could sit with Adrienne. In the mornings Bernie and Dom would leave for rehearsals together and Cam would drop them at Barons Court tube a mile away to meet Serena before he went off to work the rush hour. Bernie would buy the three of them coffee from the station cafe - black, no sugar for Serena, at that time of the morning - and would have it ready for Serena to down, bleary eyed, when she arrived from the direction of her flat on Lillie Road.

It was, all in all, the most comfortable, peaceful routine that Bernie could remember, and she was happy. She couldn’t remember being happier, in fact - for the first time she felt like her professional and personal lives were panning out. She loved her castmates - Guy Self notwithstanding - and she loved the show. More than that, the friends she’d made - Serena and Dom, and to a slightly lesser extent Raf and Morven and Zosia - were proving to be better and closer than any she’d made in her adult life. More like family. At least, like family was supposed to be.

So obviously the world would have to put a spanner in the works somehow.

This particular spanner came in the form of Transport for London deciding not to renew Uber’s private hire license which put Cameron quite unceremoniously out of a job.

“They’re appealing it though, aren’t they?” said Dom over breakfast. “I mean, you don’t have to find something else right away.”

Cam shrugged. “I suppose. It’s all a bit unstable now though, isn’t it?” He sighed. “I was just starting to get ahead, I thought. Another year or so, I’d have had enough for the fees.”

Dom eyes gentled in sympathy and he reached out to pat his friend’s arm. “You’ll get there,” he said softly. “I know you will.”

Cam swiped at his wet eyes. “I’m starting to doubt it,” he admitted. “If I wait much longer, I won’t be able to go back at all. There’s only so many years you can take out before you need to start again from scratch.”

Dom wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. It wasn’t like he could blithely assure Cam that everything would work out. They were both well aware that the world didn’t work like that. Sometimes bloody unfair things happened to good people and that was that.

Instead of meaningless platitudes, Dom offered a wan smile. “I wish I could help,” he said, keenly feeling the inadequacy of such a vain hope. After all, since Isaac had channelled all of Dom’s money into his own account, Dom was in even worse financial straits than Cam. If there were only some way he could secure him a job, something to tide him over at least. Suddenly, an idea dawned. “Hey, why don’t you come and work on _Wicked_ with us?”

Cam smirked ruefully. “I’m afraid Bernie inherited all the family talent in that department,” he said. “Besides, don’t you have to audition? I didn’t think it was as easy as just turning up.”

Dom ruffled Cam’s hair playfully. “I don’t mean as a performer, as well you know,” he said. “I’m talking about the vacant production assistant job. Essie quit in a temper last week after Guy Self acted like a massive weeping cock for the umpteenth time.”

“You’re really selling this job,” Cam deadpanned.

Dom grinned. “He won’t dare try to bully you,” he said. “You’re Jocasta Dunn’s son. More to the point, you’re Bernie’s brother. Even Guy Self’s massive ego knows that she’s about a billion times more important to the production than he is.”

Cameron pursed his lips as he considered the suggestion. “I don’t like to trade off my family name,” he said at last. “That’s one of the reasons I dropped Wolfe.” He shrugged. “But...needs must.”

Dom beamed. “Fantastic! And hey, you could sell the car - that would help with the fees, right? And-” He broke off, a slight blush rising to his cheeks.

“And what?”

Dom squirmed. “And we’d get to spend more time together,” he said eventually. His blush deepened, and his eyes dropped to his hands. “I mean, all four of us. Bernie and Serena, and-”

“And you and me?” Cam smiled gently. “That’s a point in this plan’s favour too.”

Warmth spread through Dom’s chest as he raised his chin and met Cam’s soft brown eyes. “Well…” he murmured, then cleared his throat. “You should come in with us today and talk to the producers about it.”

Cam nodded and got up from the table to go and tell Bernie they’d be walking to the station that morning.

* * * * *

It had been another exceptionally bad night in the McKinnie-Campbell household. There were more bad nights than good these days, it seemed. Adrienne’s condition was deteriorating frighteningly quickly. Flashes of her old spark would shine through occasionally - often at the most unexpected times - but those times were now few and far between. More often than not, she was simply confused and frustrated - unable to understand the ways in which her mind was betraying her.

Serena rolled her shoulders, feeling the muscles protest and the fresh cuts peppering the skin sting. Last night Adrienne had lashed out when Serena had tried to take her rings off before bed and the sharp edges of the gems of her engagement ring had broken the skin.

Serena had bled, then cried silently in the bathroom later - not for the pain of the cuts but for the anguish of looking into her mother’s eyes and seeing a stranger looking back.

Serena’s eyes slid shut as she stepped under the shower spray, feeling the hot water rain down on her aching muscles and stinging shoulders. The next thing she knew, Carol was calling her name from the other side of the door. Her whole body jerked. “I’ll be out in a second!” she called, ducking her head under the spray to try to shock the sleepiness from her heavy eyelids.

 _Literally fell asleep standing up in the shower,_ she texted to Bernie on her way out the door. _Running late. You two go on without me._ She added a sad face emoji and slipped the phone into her pocket.

She spent the fifteen minute walk from her flat to the station in an exhausted fugue, broken only by the question of whether she could justify three quid for a coffee to wake herself up. She thought of Bernie and her regular, unassuming gift of morning caffeine and cursed herself for being late.

Turning into the station, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She flinched away, ready to unleash a cutting remark on whatever unsuspecting commuter had accosted her, when she registered a familiar half-smile and mop of messy blonde hair.

“Hello you. Sorry, did I startle you?” Bernie said, holding out a coffee in a burgundy to-go cup.

Serena blinked. “I thought you’d have gone on ahead,” she said at last, reaching out and accepting the drink gratefully. “Sorry I’m late…”

Bernie waved the apology away. “I sent the boys on without me,” she said. “But I thought if you were half as tired as your text made you sound, you’d need a caffeine hit this morning.”

A few weeks ago, Serena might have bristled at the implication that she needed Bernie to get her morning coffee, that she couldn’t afford to get one every day on her own. But they were friends now - close friends, even, despite their rocky start - and so Serena just smiled her gratitude, then moaned in pleasure as she took her first sip. “You were one hundred percent correct there,” she admitted, her voice low and throaty, then frowned as what Bernie had said registered. “Hang on, ‘boys’? Is Cam coming in with us today?”

Bernie took a second to answer. Her cheeks were a little pink, her lips parted as she stared, glassy-eyed, at Serena. Then she seemed to shake herself. “Oh, uhm...yes.” She led the way to the platform, explaining the situation with Uber, and Dom’s idea for Cam to apply to work with them on the show.

“Ah, I wonder why Dom suggested that?” Serena said, smirking. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that he’d get to see him all day every day?” Her smirk became minutely more smug. “He thinks he’s so sneaky, but he’s completely transparent.” She looked at Bernie, nudging her with her shoulder. “You must have noticed it yourself.”

Bernie shrugged. “Of course,” she admitted. “It’s quite sweet, really. I wasn’t sure if Cam...uh...still liked boys.”

Serena raised an eyebrow. “He hasn’t had a relationship in a while?”

“Not since before he transitioned, no,” Bernie explained. “He’s been focusing on himself these last few years. And I’ve read about how some people find their orientation shifts a little after transition.” She smiled a little. “But I guess Cam still likes men.”

Their conversation was interrupted as a train arrived. Bernie let Serena go on first and - miracle of miracles - she found two open seats together. She raced to them, parking her bum just before a couple of bearded hipsters in skinny jeans could grab them, and pulled Bernie down beside her.

“Oh, this is exactly what I needed this morning,” she murmured, linking her arm through Bernie’s and leaning her head on her shoulder. “I don’t think I can even explain how tired I am right now…”

Bernie’s voice, when she replied, was a little breathier than usual. “Well, uhm...it’s Saturday tomorrow. You can sleep in maybe?”

Serena’s eyes slid closed. “Alas, no,” she said. “I’ve promised Jason I’ll take him back to the Natural History Museum to see his corrected sign. And he wants to see the blue whale; it wasn’t ready the last time he went. That reminds me, actually - he asked if you’d come. Don’t feel obliged or anything; I think he was just rather impressed with you that day. I mean, after what happened and everything, with Rob-”

“I’d be delighted to come with you,” Bernie interrupted softly.

Serena opened her eyes and looked up into Bernie’s face. A slow smile appeared on her lips as a pleasant warmth spread through her chest. “Okay,” she said quietly, then dropped her head back to Bernie’s shoulder.

She felt Bernie pull her arm from hers and felt bereft for a moment, wondering if she should sit up, give Bernie her space. But before the thought could fully crystallise in her mind, Bernie’s arm was sliding round her shoulders, pulling her even closer so their sides were pressed flush together. Serena sighed in contentment, her hand dropping impulsively to Bernie’s lap and curling round her waist. “Is this all right?” she murmured, and felt Bernie’s answering nod. She breathed in deep through her nose, taking in the familiar scent of soap and shampoo and Bernie that she’d become so used to over these last weeks. It wasn’t long before the warmth of Bernie’s body and the slow rumble and motion of the train lulled her into a light sleep.

* * * * *

Luckily, Serena managed five full hours of uninterrupted rest that night and so was feeling vaguely human again by the time Marjorie and Jason arrived the next morning. Jason was keyed up and excited, keeping up an unending monologue about Protoceratopses and the key differences between them and Oviraptors. Luckily, he was easily persuaded to deliver this lecture to Adrienne in the living room while his mother and aunt grabbed a quick coffee in the kitchen.

Marjorie cast a worried eye over Serena, taking in the dark circles under her eyes that couldn’t quite be covered by concealer, and the slumped cast of her shoulders. “You’ve not been sleeping well,” she said gently.

Serena shrugged. “It’s been...worse,” she allowed. “A bit.”

Marjorie reached out and rested her hand on Serena’s arm. “Do we need to think about an overnight carer?” she asked.

Serena’s cheeks pinked slightly. “Sure, when I win the lottery,” she said, shaking her head. “I can barely keep up with paying Carol, never mind adding anything else. You know that.”

Marjorie winced. “I thought...well, _Wicked_ pays more than _Cats,_ right?”

“It does,” Serena admitted. “But…”

“But?”

The pink of Serena’s cheeks turned red. “I’m still paying off what it cost to move here,” she said, her jaw clenched.

Serena had been living in a studio flat when it became clear her mother was too ill to take care of herself. Finding an appropriate place for them both to live had been a challenge to say the least - an expensive one. Even when they’d found this place in Fulham - one of the cheapest two beds Serena had viewed, but nice enough, and an easy commute to the theatres of the West End - there had been one expense after another. Agency fees, application fees, the deposit, the first month’s rent in advance, a moving company, a termination fee for leaving her old flat early - on and on. It had added up to nearly four grand in the end; money Serena simply didn’t have. A loan had been the only option, and it had been weighing round her neck like a millstone ever since.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Marjorie breathed, rubbing Serena’s arm. “I wish I could help…”

Serena shook her head ruefully. Marjorie’s job as a nurse at the nearby Charing Cross Hospital paid an absolute pittance, especially by London standards - between that and the specialist babysitters she needed to hire for Jason when she was on night shifts, she was barely scraping by herself.

“Maybe I could stay here some nights,” Marjorie continued. “You could kip at mine, let you catch up on some sleep at least.”

Serena’s eyes brightened. “That might work,” she said slowly. “Do you think Jason would mind?”

Marjorie grinned. “Mind? He adores you, you know that. I’ve heard nothing all week but Auntie Serena this, Auntie Serena that.” She nudged her sister with her hip. “When he’s not going on about Bernie.”

“Ah, yes, he did seem quite taken with her,” Serena said, downing the last of her coffee.

“Indeed he is. I hear she’s coming with you two today.”

Serena frowned. “How did you know that?”

“I have my sources,” Marjorie replied mysteriously, then refused to say anything more on the subject.

The bus was crowded and Serena and Jason had to stand most of the way to the museum. She was glad to get him off the bus - he’d gone quiet and was tapping his thigh with his fingers; both sure signs that he was becoming overwhelmed. But he revived a bit when they were out in the open again, and even smiled when he saw Bernie.

“Hello!” he called loudly from a dozen feet away, making ten people in the immediate vicinity turn to look at him. Serena winced, but Bernie just smiled and ignored them.

“Hello, Jason,” she said, approaching them. She glanced at Serena through her fringe. “Hi.”

“Morning,” Serena replied. She smiled, feeling a little shy for some reason. She remembered falling asleep the day before on the tube, practically in Bernie’s arms. The other woman hadn’t mentioned it - had gallantly pretended not to notice it at all, in fact - but Serena’s cheeks still grew a little warm at the memory.

Bernie had dressed in an outfit Serena hadn’t seen before: bootcut blue jeans rather than her usual uniform of black and skinny, a charcoal grey jumper over what looked like a green plaid shirt, and a buttery soft, collarless dark brown leather jacket that Serena immediately coveted. She reached out and ran her fingers over its lapels. “This is nice,” she purred. “Do I want to know how much it cost?”

Bernie took a long moment to reply. “Uhm...twenty quid,” she managed at last, a little breathily. “In a charity shop.”

An eyebrow shot into Serena’s hairline. “ _You_ go to charity shops?”

Bernie still looked a little discombobulated. “On occasion.”

Serena lips curled into a slow smile as she looked up into Bernie’s eyes. “You must tell me your secret haunts,” she said softly. Bernie’s cheeks turned a little pink.

“Are you coming or not?”

Their heads turned simultaneously to see Jason standing in the queue of patrons waiting to get into the museum. “Neither of you move very quickly, do you?” he said.

Serena laughed and let go of Bernie’s lapels. “The master calleth,” she quipped, then linked her arm with Bernie’s and led her onwards.

As soon as they got through the bag check, Jason insisted they go straight to the dinosaurs to see the amended Oviraptor sign. He walked quickly ahead of them, looking back every few moments to check they were still behind him. When they finally arrived at the dinosaur gallery, he was about ready to burst with excitement.

It had been years since Bernie had been to the Natural History Museum, so she was able to listen to Jason’s explanations and endless lists of facts with genuine interest. Serena watched them together indulgently, taking the odd photo of Jason with the dinosaur exhibits and texting them to Marjorie accompanied by various emojis.

Bernie, for her part, seemed glad to focus her attention on Jason. She was good with him, Serena mused. So much better than Robbie had ever been.

Serena frowned. Where had that comparison come from?

“Excuse me?”

Serena’s attention snapped back to the real world as Bernie turned to see a shyly smiling girl of about twenty staring at her with wide, excited eyes.

“Are you Bernie Wolfe?”

“Uhm...yes,” Bernie said.

“Oh-em-gee,” the girl replied, her voice breathy with glee. “I saw you in _Les Mis_ in the summer, you were amazing.”

A flush rose on Bernie’s cheeks. She could see Serena smirking out of the corner of her eye. “Oh, thank-you,” she stammered. “Uhm...you’re too kind.”

The girl barrelled on. “Is it true you’re going to be in _Wicked_ now? I have tickets for next month, I hope I see you. You’re my favourite actress. Can I get a picture? Oh, and your autograph?”

Bernie acquiesced to all these requests with stupefied magnanimity. “Uhm, if you’re a _Wicked_ fan you should get my friend’s autograph too.” She reached out and hauled a protesting Serena back into the girl’s orbit. “This is Serena Campbell,” she said. “She’ll be playing Elphaba opposite me.”

The girl squealed in delight and insisted on getting a picture with Serena too, then another with all three of them. Serena signed her name under Bernie’s on the piece of paper the girl had thrust into her hands and returned it with a smile. “Nice to have met you,” she said.

Amazingly, the young fan took the hint. “Thank-you both so much,” she gushed. “I’ll let you get on. Thanks again!”

She wandered off, already typing something madly into her phone. Bernie expected the photos would be on instagram or tumblr within seconds - she hoped she didn’t look too shellshocked in them. It always surprised her when people recognised her - it wasn’t like she was a screen actress after all. But there was always the occasional theatre addict who made it their business to study the programmes and the headshots.

“Does that happen to you a lot?”

Serena was smirking a little, but she looked pleased too - it was the first autograph she’d ever given.

Bernie shrugged. “Now and then,” she said. “You’d best get used to it - it’ll be happening to you after we open.”

Serena waved her hand dismissively. “I don’t think so,” she said. “The benefits of green makeup.”

They walked together through the exhibit for a few moments, enjoying a comfortable silence. Jason was a few feet away, walking from dinosaur to dinosaur in a set pattern, reading the information on the signs in detail, despite having seen them dozens of times before and knowing all the facts by heart.

“I didn’t actually want to be an actress, you know,” Bernie said quietly, breaking the silence.

Serena turned to her in surprise. “No?” she said. “I’d have thought you were born to it.”

Bernie smiled ruefully. “Yes, that’s what everyone thought. Mother would always sing with me when I was a child and I was good...I mean I never had that tuneless monotone that little kids sometimes have. So it was rather assumed I’d follow in her footsteps one day.”

Serena waited, then nudged Bernie with her shoulder when nothing else was forthcoming. “But?”

“But...I always wanted to join the army.”

Serena’s eyes widened. “The _army?_ The actual army, with uniforms and guns and all that?”

“The very same,” Bernie replied, chuckling at Serena’s dumbfoundment. “Father wouldn’t have it though.” She coughed and put on a passable imitation of her father’s gruff tone. “It’s a man’s world. Women in the army are all bloody lesbians, Berenice.” She cleared her throat. “So it was, uh, RADA rather than Sandhurst. Didn’t have a lot of choice in the end. Not big on any sort of gender nonconformity, my father. Needless to say.”

Serena’s face had softened in sympathy while Bernie was speaking. She slid her arm round Bernie’s waist and pulled her in for a brief one-armed hug. “Have I mentioned I despise your father?” she murmured, and Bernie laughed.

“Your father didn’t want you to join the army because he thought you’d meet too many gay people?” Jason said suddenly, surprising both women, neither of whom realised he’d been listening.

Bernie cleared her throat self-consciously. “Uhm...something like that, Jason,” she said. She supposed that was one possible interpretation of what she’d said.

“So he encouraged you to work in musical theatre instead?” Jason frowned. “That was stupid. Auntie Serena says almost everyone who does musical theatre is gay.”

Bernie snorted with laughter. “Well…”

“Everyone on _Wicked_ is gay,” Jason continued.

“Oh?”

Jason nodded. “Or bisexual.”

“Right...uhm…”

“Except Mo and Sacha.”

“So I believe.” Bernie couldn’t help but feel she’d lost control of this conversation.

“Auntie Serena’s bisexual.”

Bernie’s eyes flicked to Serena, who was now blushing slightly. “Uhm, yes, I know-”

“Do you like girls, Bernie?”

It was Bernie’s turn to blush. “Uhm...well, I…”

Serena’s voice was a little sharp. “Jason, that’s enough.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“It’s just quite a personal question, sweetheart,” she explained, flustered.

“You said that some people like girls and some people like boys and some people like both and that it doesn’t matter. If it doesn’t matter, why can’t I ask?”

Serena opened her mouth, then snapped it closed again. Her mind raced, searching for a way to explain the concept of the closet and internalised homophobia and family rejection. Jason had grown up in such an accepting environment, he often didn’t understand the illogical ways some people acted. In his mind, parents loved their children unconditionally. That was their job. The idea that a parent could hold that love to ransom, that they would withdraw it if their child turned out to be different than expected, was completely alien to him. Not for the first time, Serena mused that the world would probably be a better place if more people thought like Jason.

In the end, Bernie came to her rescue. “It’s all right,” she said softly. “Uhm...yes, Jason, I do like girls.”

He nodded. “I thought so. Because Auntie Serena said Mo and Sacha were the only two straight people on the show, and you’re not Mo or Sacha.” He nodded again, as if pleased with his deduction. “Do you like boys as well?”

Bernie glanced at Serena whose face was bright pink. “No,” Bernie murmured. “Just girls.”

“Okay.” Serena smiled brightly to cover her embarrassment. “Shall we go and see this blue whale then?”

Jason agreed, and the three of them headed off to Hintze Hall. When they entered, Serena couldn’t help but gasp. She’d seen the whale skeleton in news reports on TV but images didn’t live up to the sight of it in real life, suspended from the ceiling in a diving pose, as if it was about to rush down and pluck a museum patron from the ground below for a midday snack.

Jason was enraptured and insisted on going all the way round the hall three times, absorbing all the information displayed about blue whales and this skeleton in particular, which the museum had named Hope. Serena wondered if this was the start of a maritime preoccupation - dinosaurs had lasted quite a long time now, but Jason was definitely overdue for a shift in his obsessions.

Bernie took it upon herself again to lead Jason round the exhibit, giving Serena a chance to take a quick breather. She expected Jason to want to stay for hours yet, so it was a surprise when she saw Bernie whispering something to him and him nodding and calling out to her. “We need to go now, Auntie Serena.”

She glanced at her watch. “Already, Jason?”

He nodded seriously. “Bernie and I have a surprise for you.”

She raised one eyebrow, but he looked so excited that she decided not to question it. Even Bernie looked quietly pleased, her cheeks a little pink. So she allowed herself to be led from the museum to South Kensington tube station, and from there onto a District line train, and then onto a number 8 bus. By the time they alighted near Brick Lane, Serena was being nearly eaten alive by curiosity.

“Not far now,” was all Bernie would say. Sure enough, within a couple of minutes of getting off the bus they arrived at their destination - a café on Bethnal Green Road, sandwiched between a restaurant and a newsagent.

There was a cat sleeping in the window.

Serena turned to Bernie, her eyes sparkling. Bernie grinned. “It’s a cat café,” she explained. “I remembered how you said your landlord wouldn’t let you have one, so…” She shrugged. “I thought...maybe visiting some would be nice?”

Serena smiled, enchanted. “How wonderful,” she said. “But how did you get Jason to agree to cut short his time with the dinosaurs?”

Bernie smiled slightly. “Oh, well...that was easy, really,” she murmured. “I asked Dom to give me your sister’s number so I could ask him in advance. I, uh...I read that it’s important to give notice of changing plans and routines. And I just explained to him that I needed his help to do something for you and he was all for it. He’s such a kind boy - as soon as he understood that it was for you, well…” She trailed off, shrugging a little.

Serena stared at her, thinking about the effort that had gone into organising this surprise, the research that Bernie had obviously done to learn how to accommodate Jason’s needs, the care and consideration she’d shown them both.

“You always look after everyone else,” Jason explained. “I’m glad Bernie looks after you now.”

Bernie looked away, her cheeks flushing. Serena suddenly felt like she might cry. She reached out and touched Bernie’s hand, turning it over until they were palm to palm. She threaded their fingers together.

“Me too,” she said softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've prepared some visual aids for this chapter. First of all, like with Bernie's place, I do have a specific flat in mind for Serena which you can see [here](http://wonkots42.tumblr.com/post/166686879865/serenas-placepdf).
> 
> Here are some of the exhibits they saw at the [Natural History Museum](https://imgur.com/a/BMUOD).
> 
> Finally, the cat café is a real place called [Lady Dinah's Cat Emporium](https://imgur.com/a/MUXsf). It's like Alice in Wonderland in there, and there are kitties everywhere. It's a magical place.
> 
> Oh, and one last visual aid... 


	11. Hands Touch, Eyes Meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie ponders her changing relationship with Serena, with the help of an unexpected friend.

_ Hearts leap in a giddy whirl… _

After their ninety minute slot in the cat café was over, Jason insisted on Bernie coming back with them for dinner. It was fish and chips night, which meant detouring to the only acceptable takeaway for Jason which was on Greyhound Road, next to the hospital where his mother worked. He pointed out the hospital to Bernie as they passed.

“She works on the Acute Assessment Unit,” he said. “It’s very exciting.”

“If you find vomiting, broken wrists and the occasional appendectomy exciting,” Serena added sotto voce, and Bernie laughed.

Jason was about ten paces ahead of them as they walked down Fulham Palace Road. It was coming up for five o’clock and the rush hour traffic was already clogging the street. The pavement was busy too, with people heading home from work or into the hospital or - like them - on the hunt for food.

“I don’t envy Marjorie,” Serena confided to Bernie as they approached the takeaway. “I can’t imagine eating the same seven things week in, week out.”

Bernie nodded. “Is it just a routine thing for him, or is it more of a sensory issue?”

Serena paused, then looked at Bernie with a quick sidelong glance. “You really have done your homework, haven’t you?” Bernie thought she sounded impressed, and wondered if it was really so unusual for her to find people who were willing to accommodate Jason’s needs. Then she thought about Robbie and decided that it probably was.

“Oh, well…” she said, shrugging self-consciously. “I was interested.”

It had actually been interesting - she’d had no idea of the range of experiences and needs of children on the autistic spectrum. She’d found herself still up at one am the previous night reading up on language development, sensory issues, difficulties in understanding and processing emotions, intense interests, the need for routine; it went on and on. She felt enriched by it, like she understood the way Jason’s mind worked a little better.

Serena smiled. “Well, it’s a little from column A and a little from column B. There are things he absolutely won’t touch, but even things he likes have to be served on the right day. I’m amazed he ate that croissant at the café, to be honest.”

“Distracted by the cats, I expect,” Bernie suggested, remembering his fascination with a particular tabby called Wookie. “It’s a shame he can’t have one. It’d be good for him, I think.”

Serena hummed in agreement as they arrived at the takeaway. Jason knew exactly what he wanted - it was the same order every week, after all - and tapped his foot impatiently while Serena and Bernie looked at the menu. “My treat,” Serena insisted, when Bernie tried to pay for her own. “Think of it as partially paying you back for all those coffees over the last couple of weeks.”

Bernie considered pressing the issue, but then thought better of it. They’d had a lovely day and the last thing she wanted to do was ruin it by offending her friend. “Thanks,” she said, and was rewarded by a beaming smile that made her heart clench.

“We’re back!” Jason yelled at the top of his lungs as soon as Serena turned the key in the door. She winced, thinking of her slightly grumpy upstairs neighbour.

Marjorie met them at the door and took the bags of food Serena passed her. “You must be the famous Bernie,” she said, grinning. “My son’s quite taken with you.”

Bernie’s cheeks pinked, but she returned Marjorie’s smile. “He’s a lovely boy,” she said.

Bernie didn’t stay long after dinner, knowing that Serena’s mother was worse at night and took a bit of time to settle. It had been nice though, being with Serena’s family, listening to stories about her childhood and her early career. She’d discovered that Campbell was just a stage name - apparently there had already been a Serena McKinnie in Equity, as unlikely as that seemed.

“It’s mum’s maiden name,” Serena had explained. “The whole family’s Scottish if you go back far enough.”

Serena’s mother had seemed reasonably compos mentis to Bernie, happily regaling her with a story about Serena sneaking out of their house after bed when she was seven to go and play in her friend’s treehouse. They’d found her two hours later, wearing a nightdress and roller skates: she’d somehow managed to climb a six foot garden fence in that outfit without breaking her neck. “I’m very co-ordinated,” Serena had said in explanation, her eyes twinkling as she threw Bernie a wink. Apparently Adrienne had barely been able to hold in her laughter long enough to punish her. 

Bernie hoped that the calm evening would augur well for the night, and that Serena would be able to get some sleep. She’d been more worried than she’d let on the day before when Serena had fallen asleep in her arms on the tube. The worry had almost been enough to disguise just how much she’d enjoyed the feeling of Serena pressed against her, her warm breath tickling her chin as she dozed, her silky hair caressing her cheek.

Almost.

Bernie cheeks burned as she walked, remembering how beautiful Serena had looked that morning as she sauntered up to her outside the museum, how her eyes had twinkled as she smiled, how the sunlight had caught her hair just right and lit up what had been plain brown into wondrous shades of chestnut and umber and russet.

“Why do you have to be so stupid?” she muttered bitterly to herself. 

It wasn’t like she hadn’t always known that Serena was beautiful. One could hardly fail to notice it after all; the woman was stunning. There was no other way to describe her. Bernie remembered the first day she’d seen her, leaning casually on the wall of the theatre on the day of callback auditions, chatting and laughing with Dom. She’d acknowledged it there and then, taking in Serena’s appearance with one quick glance and feeling a pleasant tingle of attraction that she did her best to stamp out immediately.

But she hadn’t been able to destroy the urge to be close to her, to be friendly, the desire to hear her speak, to be the recipient of the casual touches so easily dispensed to Dom and Raf and the others. That was why it had hurt more than it should, Bernie realised now, that Serena had at first wanted nothing to do with her.

She’d been so happy when she and Serena had become friends. For a while she’d even managed to convince herself that friendship was all she wanted - all she’d ever wanted. But she had miscalculated.

Because Serena was a flame - bright, warm, entrancing - and Bernie couldn’t help but be drawn to her like the proverbial moth.

And now she couldn’t pretend anymore that Serena’s touch didn’t send her heart into a tailspin, that the sound of her voice didn’t make her blood fizz like freshly popped champagne, that her laugh didn’t make her mind go blank and her breath catch in her throat. Today had been the final nail in the coffin of her denial. Serena had been laying siege to her resolve all day, with casual touches and whispered words and soft looks, and - in the simple act of linking their hands together outside a Shoreditch café - she had finally destroyed the last vestiges of Bernie’s self-deceit.

_ So, you fancy her,  _ she thought.  _ Now what? _

Bernie looked up from the pavement and was surprised by how far she’d come without realising it. She’d made it to North End Road, right outside The Cumberland Arms. She and Marcus had been there once for an early dinner and she remembered the food being decent. A drink was all she wanted right now though - something to calm her racing heart and let her mind stop whirling for a minute. Before she could think too hard, she ducked inside, making directly for the bar without looking around.

“Whisky, please,” she said to the bartender when she made eye contact. “A double.”

“What kind?”

The girl pointed at the drinks menu. Bernie cast her eye over it, spotted an Australian shiraz on there, and thought of Serena.

“Laphroaig,” she said quickly to derail that train of thought before it could go too far. The bartender poured her drink and Bernie downed it in one go, after tapping her debit card on the contactless payment machine. “Same again,” she said, already feeling the warmth of the alcohol spreading through her chest.

“I’ll get this one,” a male voice said near her ear.

She turned, ready to shoot the guy down, to tell him thanks but no thanks, and would he kindly fuck off and leave her to her brooding? Her mouth was open, ready to begin the opening salvo, when she belatedly recognised who was speaking to her.

“Marcus,” she mumbled, slightly stunned by his sudden appearance. She blinked three times quickly, trying desperately to let her brain catch up with her tongue.

“Long time no see, Bernie,” he replied, grinning at her. The bartender placed Bernie’s drink on the counter and Marcus paid before she could object, taking her by the elbow and ushering her over to his table. “I’m just waiting for someone,” he said. “Sit down and talk to me for a minute.”

Still a little off kilter, Bernie did as she was asked. Her hands curled round her glass, more for something to do than anything else. “Uhm…” she began, wincing at how pathetic she sounded to her own ears. “How’ve you been?”

Marcus seemed oblivious to any awkwardness. “Great,” he enthused. “Fantastic, actually. I met someone. And I’m pretty sure this one isn’t a lesbian. Ninety percent.”

_ Of course,  _ Bernie thought. This would cap it all - listening to Marcus talk about his lesbian-free love life.

“Probably hasn’t met the right woman yet,” she said, risking a joke. He laughed and she relaxed, taking a sip of her drink as the tension seeped away.

“How have you been?” he said, taking a swig of his beer. “Rehearsals going well?”

“Yes, all fine,” she replied. “We’ve got three weeks to go now. It’ll be strange having days free and working all night again.”

They chatted for a while, reminiscing about their time on  _ Les Mis,  _ their mutual friends and acquaintances, neatly skirting round the topic of Alex and the explosive end of their own romantic relationship until at last Marcus addressed the elephant in the room.

“So, Alex is all set up in New York, I hear.”

Bernie’s spine stiffened and she took a sip of her whisky to cover her unease. “Is she?”

“You’re not in touch?”

Bernie shook her head, studiously regarding a knot in the wood of the table and avoiding his searching gaze.

He reached out to touch her arm, then seemed to think better of it, drawing his hand back across the table. “I thought for sure you two would make a go of it,” he said gently.

Bernie shrugged. “Impossible,” she said with finality. She thought of how her father would react if he found out she was gay and shuddered. She knew it shouldn’t matter anymore; she was twenty-eight years old, after all - an adult, independent, successful in her career - but she couldn’t help it. Lord Wolfe’s shadow was long and she’d lived in fear of him all her life. He had left a mark, a stain, an echo that made her apologise too quickly and too often, that made her first instinct always to placate, that made her flinch sometimes at loud noises or sudden movements. She knew she couldn’t defy him like Cam had. She wasn’t brave enough.

She thought of Serena then, so confident and comfortable in her own skin. For a moment she allowed herself to think about what it might be like to be with her: if by some miracle Serena ever wanted her too, if she had the chance to be by her side every day, to hold her at night, to try to make her happy - would her strength bolster Bernie? Or would Bernie’s weakness infect Serena?

She had a feeling she knew which it would be.

Marcus frowned. “I know that face,” he said. “That’s your self-recrimination face. What is it?”

Bernie hesitated. She couldn’t talk to Marcus about this, could she? She’d taken him for a ride, really - used him to hide from herself, to make a last ditch effort to somehow become a version of herself of which her father would approve. 

But then...who else could she talk to? All her friends knew Serena.

So she told him, the words pouring out of her in a torrent, uncensored and unchecked, aided by two double whiskies and Bernie’s own desperate, aching heart.

But it was obvious that Marcus didn’t understand. “What’s the issue? You’re single, she’s single, you know she theoretically likes women - just tell her how you feel.”

Bernie shook her head, imagining the almost inevitable polite rejection and cringing internally at the awkwardness and stilted interactions that would follow. “We’ve become such close friends,” she said carefully. “And I’ve destroyed too many friendships in my life.” Her eyes flicked up to his face and the guilt of how she’d treated him came back full force. “Look at what I did to you. And Alex.”

Marcus sighed. “I’m still your friend, Bernie,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. “I was angry before, I admit. But we were mates before and we can be mates again, if you want. As for Alex, well…” He shrugged. “You win some, you lose some. But one surefire way to lose is to never play at all.”

Bernie pondered what he’d said as she walked back to her flat. They’d parted on good terms when his date arrived, both promising to keep in touch. It was nice, she thought, and an unexpected gift, to get their friendship back after everything she’d done.

“Hello?” she called as she opened her front door. “Anyone home?”

Silence was the reply. She vaguely remembered Cam telling her that he and Dom had planned to go out, to celebrate Cam’s new production assistant job by drinking to excess and dancing until they were both a sweaty mess. So, she was alone.

Grabbing a glass and an unopened whisky bottle, she meandered to her bedroom. It was probably a bad idea to drink more, but she wasn’t sure how she’d be able to sleep without it. Thoughts of Serena swam through her head as she poured a double measure of single malt into her tumbler; her soft skin, her warm eyes, that jackpot of a laugh. Her friend and her so much more than a friend, at least in the dark, secret depths of Bernie’s heart.

It was just so typical of her, Bernie thought bitterly, to screw everything up. She’d been happy - so happy - to have a job she loved and friends who had her back, with no complications like there had been with Alex, no betrayal like there had been with Marcus.

As she fell into a restless sleep, she cursed herself for letting this happen. These inconvenient feelings, these unwelcome desires.

_ Why can’t you just have a friend without fucking up?  _ her mind raged.  _ What is wrong with you? _

She woke several hours later in the dark, her heart pounding and breath gasping, the aftershocks of a dream still echoing on her eyelids. Images flashed before her: Serena’s face, eyes dark with desire and cheeks flushed with pleasure; Bernie’s hands tracing the curve of her hips and caressing her stomach; Serena’s back arching as Bernie pressed rapturous kisses onto the pale column of her throat. Bernie moaned involuntarily, feeling a rush of heat spread through her body from the tip of her toes to the top of her head at the memory of the dream. She felt herself throb and realised she was more turned on than she’d ever been in her life, that all it would take would be a little pressure in the right place and-

She clamped down on that thought before it could reach its logical conclusion. “No,” she ground out, teeth clenched. She wouldn’t use thoughts of Serena that way. She wouldn’t disrespect their friendship any more than she already had.

Shame and self-loathing did a good job of cooling her ardour. She swung her legs out of bed, heading for her ensuite bathroom. A shower would take care of any lingering desire.

A cold one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Jackpot laugh" is a reference to a Carol Ann Duffy poem that I unfortunately can't remember the name of, and it's driving me up the wall.


	12. One More Disaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena receives some long-awaited news.

_ I don't even know what I’m reading! _

_ “Like a ship blown from its mooring by a wind off the sea. Like a seed dropped by a skybird in a distant wood.” _

Serena gazed into Bernie’s eyes as she sang, emoting for all she was worth. It was the last song of a very long day and they were both tired. Bernie in particular seemed slightly on edge. She had all week, Serena thought, but it hadn’t affected rehearsals. Bernie was a consummate professional: as soon as a scene or a song began she was in character and perfect in every way. Now, for example, her eyes were shining with emotion - all of Glinda’s love and longing and regret bundled up together, almost straining out of her. Although she knew it was acting - and wonderful acting at that - Serena was still bowled over by it.

“Wonderful, ladies, wonderful,” Hanssen’s crisp voice intoned as the last notes of the song soared through the empty rehearsal space and slowly faded away.

It was just the three of them left. The rest of the cast had been allowed to head home an hour before, as the final number of the day only involved Serena and Bernie. Dom, they knew, was waiting in his dressing room for Cam to finish his own work. The four of them planned to head back to the Holland Road flat together for dinner. Pizza had been mentioned - made from scratch, even, not from Dominos.

“I wish I could act as well as you,” Serena murmured to Bernie as Hanssen busied himself looking over his notes. “You convey so much feeling, just with your eyes. It’s a joy to watch.”

Bernie blushed furiously, surprising Serena not at all. She was atrocious at taking compliments sometimes. “You do too,” she said. Serena scoffed. “No, Serena, you do. Sometimes you look at me and I…” She trailed off, her blush deepening.

Just as Serena opened her mouth to ask her to finish her thought, Hanssen spoke. “One more time, I think, and we can finish for the day,” he said. “Now, I think it’s high time we had a kiss.”

Bernie’s head snapped round, her eyes wide as saucers. “What?”

Serena laughed. “I’m flattered, Mr Hanssen, but you aren’t my type.” She nudged Bernie. “You’re definitely not hers.” Bernie looked from her friend to the director, her mouth hanging slightly open. Serena’s grin grew minutely wider.

“A goodbye kiss,” Hanssen clarified. “Your characters will never see one another again. Many productions include a kiss on the cheek at this point, particularly when the actresses have good chemistry, as you have.”

Bernie blinked hard three times. “Right. On the...right, of course.” She blew out a breath.

The music started again and Bernie shook herself as she belatedly stumbled back to her first position.  _ Get it together, Wolfe,  _ her mind furiously spat. They ran through the song one last time, their voices merging and soaring together like frollicking birds. This time, when it was over, Serena stepped forward and cradled Bernie’s face between her palms. She stared into her eyes for a long moment, pupils wide and dark, unblinking. When she leaned forward, Bernie’s breath caught in her throat, her cheeks flushing hot. 

Serena drew their faces closer together until there were mere millimetres between their lips. Bernie’s mind went blank, like she was an android and the prospect of Serena’s kiss had short-circuited some vital component. Serena paused for what felt like forever, her breath ghosting over Bernie’s lips. Then, at the last second, she turned her face to the side and pressed a long, warm kiss onto Bernie’s cheek. Bernie was frozen, unable to think of anything but the warmth of Serena’s fingers on her skin, the softness of her lips, the scent of her, filling her up like oxygen. 

“Was that what you had in mind, Mr Hanssen?” Serena asked, releasing Bernie’s face from her grasp with a slight quirk of her lips and turning to face the director. If she noticed the heat in Bernie’s cheeks or the galloping pulse in her throat, she didn’t mention them.

“Very good, Ms Campbell. I shall see you both tomorrow.”

By the time they had returned to their dressing rooms to pick up their things and collected Cam and Dom, Bernie had mostly recovered. When Serena linked their arms together as they walked towards the tube, she was almost back in control of herself. She even managed to smile and laugh at the conversation Serena and Dom were having, continuing a flight of fancy they’d had earlier in the day about what it would be like if the Land of Oz had elections.

The idea was dropped when they arrived back at the flat in favour of getting dinner started. “I’ve never made pizza from scratch,” Serena admitted.

“Really?” Bernie said. “Uhm...I could teach you, if you like.”

Serena smiled. “Okay,” she said softly, almost shyly. Her hand moved automatically to the pendant at her throat, unconsciously rolling it between her thumb and forefinger. She’d explained to Bernie once before that her father had given it to her for her fifteenth birthday, and that she’d never taken it off since the day he died. 

“Right,” Bernie said, tearing her eyes from Serena’s hand resting on the soft skin of her throat, highlighting her beautiful collarbones. “Well, it’s very similar to a bread dough, really…”

She pulled the ingredients out of the cupboards, explaining as she went along. Before long, she had a sticky dough mixed in a bowl ready to be kneaded. She split it into two halves and  gave one to Serena. “This doesn’t feel like a pizza, somehow,” Serena said, her lips curling upwards in a slight smirk.

Bernie rolled her eyes. “It has to be kneaded to activate the gluten,” she said. “Watch me and copy.”

Serena did as she was told, watching Bernie pushing at the dough with the heel of her hand, scraping it back, folding it, turning it, repeating the process again. She saw how the dough slowly began to become more silky, smoother, more elastic. “Why, Ms Wolfe - I had no idea you were so good with your hands.”

Bernie flushed a deep red, and Serena laughed. “You’re meant to be copying,” Bernie grumbled.

Serena shook her head, bumping her hip against Bernie’s before turning her attention to the dough. She copied Bernie’s movements, feeling how the texture of the dough changed, how warm and alive it felt somehow. Bernie watched her technique, trying not to notice the long, delicate fingers, the raised tendons of her hands as she pushed and pulled at the dough, the straining muscles of her forearms.

When Serena’s bit of dough looked about the same as Bernie’s, she stopped her and showed her how to shape it so that it would rise properly when they left it to prove. The last task was to brush a thin layer of olive oil over both pieces of dough and leave them for a while under a tea towel.

Serena washed her hands at the sink, smiling as she picked little pieces of dough from her fingernails. “Well, it may take longer, but it’s definitely more satisfying than calling Dominos.”

Bernie nodded, though Serena couldn’t see her. “Well, you know what they say,” she murmured. “You appreciate things more when you’ve had to wait for them…”

Serena turned, drying her hands on a piece of kitchen paper. “Oh yes. And isn’t the anticipation the best part, darling?”

Bernie followed Serena into the living room, trying desperately not to read anything into Serena’s use of that pet name. Serena was free with her affection. She called everyone darling - Jason, Marjorie, Dom. It didn’t mean anything, Bernie told herself. But she couldn’t stop the way the sound of that endearment dropping from Serena’s lips had crept in and curled around her heart.

“Right, so, the Wizard and Elphaba need to have a debate,” Dom said, effortlessly picking up the conversational thread that had been dropped when they arrived home. He stood up and smoothed his hair back. “So yeah, I hear the cowardly lion has been criticising me lately.” He pulled a disbelieving face. “I mean, this is a guy who not that long ago was in a cage, okay? Yeah, a cage. I’ll listen to animals who weren’t captured.”

Serena leapt to her feet, instantly seeing where he was going. “You don’t listen to animals at all!” she exclaimed. “You’re just using them as a distraction to cover up the fact that you - a so called Wizard - have no magical power whatsoever. I am the most magically qualified candidate in the history of Oz!”

Dom waved her away dismissively. “The woman’s crazy,” he said. “Look at her. She’s practically got blood coming out of her eyes. Or her wherever.” He shot Serena a grin, his face gleaming. “Listen, all I’m saying is that these animals come here from the Land of Mo or whatever, they don’t know our ways, they don’t try to integrate into Munchkin or Winkie society. That’s why I’m calling for a total and complete shutdown of animal migration until we can figure out what the heck is going on with these guys.”

“It’s complete nonsense to say all animals come from the Land of Mo! Most animals have been Ozian citizens for generations,” Serena replied sharply. “The real issue in this campaign is my opponent’s links to Gillikin-supremacist organisations!”

“I’m with her,” Cam interjected, grinning. Bernie was smiling too, shaking her head at Dom and Serena’s ability to anticipate each other so well.

“But her emails!” she cried, and it was that which caused Dom to break character. He roared with laughter, collapsing back onto the sofa where Cam immediately curled his arm round his shoulders and pulled him a little closer. Dom’s hand ended up resting on the other man’s knee and Serena and Bernie shot each other a meaningful look and a quick smile.

“Shall we stick the news on?” Bernie suggested. “See if World War Three’s started yet?”

Luckily - or unluckily, depending on one’s point of view - top billing on the news was more domestic strife about the disastrous Brexit negotiations. By the time the sport news rolled round, Cam and Dom were firmly engaged in what could only be described as a full on cuddle and Bernie and Serena were more than ready to give them their privacy.

“Do you think they have any idea how adorable they are?” Serena asked quietly as she and Bernie made their way back to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner.

“Dom might; Cam doesn’t,” Bernie replied. “He’s, uh...not what you’d call confident in that department.”

Serena nudged Bernie with her shoulder. “Runs in the family, eh?”

Bernie’s cheeks flushed but she managed a strangled chuckle. “Uhm...what toppings do you want?” she said, hoping Serena wouldn’t call her on her blatant attempt to change the subject.

Serena’s lips twitched in amusement, but she let it pass. “Plain old mozzarella and basil is good enough for me,” she said. “Dom too.”

“Classic pizza margherita,” Bernie said, nodding. “Cam and I like ham and pineapple.”

Serena made a face. “Dear God. It’s lucky I didn’t find this out before we were friends - it might have been a bridge too far.”

“Snob.”

“Absolutely.” The word came out low and throaty, in a voice that a pulp thriller would have described as whisky-soaked. Bernie thought for a second that her heart would beat so hard it would actually be audible.

She really had to get a handle on this crush, Bernie thought as she busied her hands shaping the pizza dough and arranging the toppings. The trouble was, she had no idea how she was supposed to do that. She’d never been very good at compartmentalising this sort of thing. At school she’d been in danger of failing every subject but maths at one point - coincidentally the subject taught by a young and very pretty woman with curly dark hair and a Scottish accent. It was her very first proper crush - or pash, as they called it at her expensive boarding school - and it had been all-consuming. How was she supposed to focus on French vocabulary or King Lear’s tragic flaw when Miss Lynch would bestow one of her rare, radiant smiles upon her when she handed in a perfectly done set of logarithmic equations? Honestly.

Things hadn’t got much better since. When Bernie noticed a woman in that way she quickly became all she could think about. She had noticed Serena.

Dear God, had she noticed Serena.

Still, Bernie resolved as Serena got ready to leave later that evening, she would try harder. It was foolish to torture herself, for one thing and - more to the point - it was unfair on Serena. She’d be mortified if she knew about the flights of fancy that were routinely passing through Bernie’s mind these days - of what it might be like to hold her hand as they walked to the tube, or curl up with her on the couch to watch a film. What her skin would feel like under more than a casual, fleeting touch. What her kiss would taste like. Rich and intoxicating as red wine, Bernie thought. How could it be anything else?

“Well, goodnight,” Serena said, and Bernie realised that she had lapsed into a fantasy while Serena was actually talking to her. Her eyes widened in mortification, but Serena was looking at Dom and holding her arms open for a hug.

“‘Night pussycat,” he said cheerfully as she kissed his cheek.

“Enjoy your night of uninterrupted sleep,” Cam added when it was his turn. Serena was heading to Marjorie’s that night while her sister stayed with Adrienne. She was picking up Jason from his Minecraft club on the way there, and then she was getting a whole night of blessed respite. She’d been looking forward to it for nearly two weeks, ever since Marjorie had first suggested it. This was the first night they’d been able to make the idea work with Jason’s school and extracurricular schedule and Marjorie’s hospital shifts.

“Oh, I will,” Serena replied, kissing Cam on the cheek too. At last, she turned to Bernie.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Bernie said, smiling a little.

“Goodnight, Bernie.” Serena opened her arms and Bernie could do nothing else but step into them and allow herself to be wrapped up in Serena’s warmth. She rested her hands on Serena’s back near her shoulder blades, not daring to let them drift any lower, not really trusting herself not to give herself away. Serena was smiling as she pulled back. “See you in the morning.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Bernie’s cheek, mere centimetres from the corner of her mouth.

It was surely her imagination, Bernie thought, or perhaps the way that time always seemed to slow down somehow when Serena was near, but it felt like this kiss lasted longer than the ones she’d given to Dom or Cam. Serena’s hand was cupping her other cheek, her lips firm and warm. Bernie could feel every atom of her flesh that was in contact with Serena humming in tortured pleasure.

“In the morning,” she agreed when Serena finally released her. Her voice sounded strange to her own ears; high and strangled and altogether too breathless. She watched for a few moments as Serena walked down the street, only coming back inside when the darkness stole the other woman from view. “I think I’ll have a bit of an early night,” she said to Cam and Dom as she ducked her head back into the living room. “Feeling a bit tired.”

“Okay,” Cam said. “Goodnight.”

Bernie headed off towards her bedroom, missing the significant look that passed between her brother and Dom.

* * * * *

Serena slept for a gloriously uninterrupted eight hours, and woke with a smile on her face and a warm, pleasant dream slowly fading from her memory. She tried to cling on to it, but it slipped away like sand through the fingers of her mind; the harder she tried to hold on, the more the details disappeared. She thought that perhaps someone had been holding her. She remembered feeling safe, warm, loved, with the scent of soap and apples filling her nostrils as she breathed, slow and deep.

“Auntie Serena!” Jason called, popping the fragile soap bubble of memory. The last of it slipped away, leaving Serena with nothing but a lingering after effect of peace and contentment. 

She forced herself out of bed and into the kitchen where she found Jason waiting for her to make his breakfast. Plain white toast and exactly the correct amount of butter and thin-cut marmalade - Serena knew the drill by now.

Her happy, peaceful feeling lasted until exactly 7.28am. She could time it exactly, because that was when her phone rang and her day began to go to the dogs.

“Carol?” Serena said, answering on the third ring. “What’s wrong?”

She listened for a minute, her eyes closing in suddenly returned weariness as Carol described her symptoms, speculated on the cause, postulated norovirus or rotavirus or anything-at-all-virus. Serena couldn’t have cared less how she got it, if she was honest.

“I’m really sorry, Serena,” Carol said. Her voice sounded a little tinny and far away through the phone’s speakers. 

Serena sighed. “You’re ill, Carol, it can’t be helped. Will the agency send someone else?”

“That’s the thing, Serena - this bug’s gone round just about everyone. I don’t think they have anyone well enough to send. Could Marjorie…”

“Marjorie’s got to work,” Serena said, wincing. 

“I’m sorry,” Carol said again. “You won’t be charged for today, obviously.”

That was a small blessing at least, Serena thought as she hung up. Maybe she’d splash out on a taxi to take her home from Jason’s school after she dropped him off.

* * * * *

It had been a while since Bernie had travelled to rehearsals without Serena and now she found she missed it. She’d allowed herself to become used to the sight of her friend first thing in the morning, to the way her hair was still slightly wet at the nape of her neck, to the small sound of pleasure she always let out at the first sip of her morning coffee. It felt strange to be travelling with just Dom and Cam, and a little gooseberry-ish, if she was reading the way the two men kept glancing and smiling at each other while barely speaking a word correctly.

_ The boys are doing heart eyes again,  _ she texted to Serena, but didn’t get a reply.

She texted her again when she got to the Wyvern to let her know she’d left coffee and a pain-au-chocolat in her dressing room. Again, there was no reply.

She didn’t start to properly worry until Hanssen called everyone together to talk about what they’d be working on that day. They were due to transfer back to the Apollo the following Monday so this was their last day at the Wyvern. There was an undercurrent of nervous excitement everywhere, now that they were so close to their opening.

“Ms Campbell, unfortunately, can’t be with us today,” Hanssen said to the assembled cast. “Therefore Ms Naylor will be singing her parts. Otherwise, we shall be proceeding with the schedule as normal.”

Bernie’s head had snapped up when Hanssen announced that Serena wasn’t coming in. “Do you know what’s wrong?” she asked Dom, who shrugged.

“Nope,” he replied, frowning. “She didn’t seem ill last night, did she?” He looked worried too, Bernie realised. They were so close to the end of rehearsals - an illness now would put Serena’s first performance at risk. It would devastate her.

“No, she didn’t.” Bernie checked her phone again. Nothing from Serena. “Mr Hanssen?” she called as the director came within earshot. “Did Serena say what was wrong?”

“A family emergency,” Hanssen replied in clipped tones. “To work now please, Ms Wolfe, if you don’t mind.”

Bernie’s mind raced as she did as she was told, thinking first of all of Jason. Had something happened to him? Was he ill? Had he hurt himself? Then she thought of Adrienne. Could something have happened to Serena’s mother while she’d been with Marjorie? Bernie knew Serena would never forgive herself if Adrienne had been injured - or worse - when she wasn’t there.

_ Hanssen said you had a problem at home. Are you all right?  _ Bernie fired off the message before reluctantly stowing the phone in the pocket of her skinny jeans where she’d immediately feel it if it buzzed.

But the day progressed and her phone stayed still and silent. 

By the time lunchtime rolled round, her stomach was in knots and she was too anxious to even think about eating. “Why don’t you just phone her?” Dom said, in the middle of stuffing his face with a smoked salmon sandwich.

Bernie pulled a face. “I don’t want to come off pushy,” she said, wringing her hands together. “I’ve texted three times. If she wanted to talk, she’d text back.”

“Maybe she hasn’t seen them,” Dom suggested. “Does it say she’s read them?”

Bernie frowned and pulled her phone out again, pulling up her message thread with Serena. To her surprise, she was greeted by the telltale three grey dots that said Serena was in the middle of writing back. She bit her lip, waiting for the text to come through.

_ Sorry I didn’t reply. Carol’s called in sick, had to stay here and take care of mum. She’s having a bad day. Don’t let Naylor get too comfy with my part! _

Bernie sighed in relief, barely suppressing a grin. She showed the text to Dom who smiled too, then held out his plate to her. “Think you can eat now?” he asked.

She snatched a sandwich from his plate as a reply.

She left the phone in her dressing room for the afternoon in an attempt to focus fully on her performance. Singing with Jac was quite fun, in its own way. The woman was definitely talented. If it hadn’t been for Bernie and Serena’s undeniable chemistry together, the lead roles could easily have gone to Jac and Zosia. It was just luck, really, Bernie thought. Luck that she’d felt the need to leave  _ Les Mis  _ when she did. Luck that Angus had seen Serena singing Grizabella’s role in  _ Cats  _ in that brief two day window when both the main performer and stand-in had been ill. Luck that they’d both nailed their individual auditions. But as soon as they’d begun singing together, luck had taken a back seat. From that point on it was pure fate - their voices were made to duet and everyone could hear it.

Jac was a good singer, a good performer, but she wasn’t Serena. Bernie was professional and businesslike all through the afternoon, but secretly she was pleased at how obviously inferior her and Jac’s songs together were compared to when she sang with Serena.

Back in her dressing room, she collected her phone with the intention of texting Serena that very sentiment before leaving for the day. She frowned when she found seven missed call notifications and a text waiting for her.

_ Can you come round? I need you.  _

Her stomach dropped to the floor. She didn’t even have to think about her answer. 

_ I’m on my way. _

She left without Cam and Dom, throwing a quick explanation through the open door of Dom’s dressing room as she swept past. The tube seemed to take forever and every time a commuter bumped into her she felt like screaming. The knot had returned to her stomach. It was the seven missed calls more than anything that had worried her and she kicked herself for leaving her phone in her dressing room. Serena had been trying to reach her for hours and she’d let her down.

Dom had had his phone with him though, she suddenly remembered. Serena hadn’t called or texted him all day. She wasn’t sure what that meant. Did she know that he wouldn’t be able to help with whatever had happened? Was she worried about interrupting his time with Cameron? Or…

_ No,  _ her mind insisted.  _ Don’t go there. _

But she couldn’t help it. The thought rose to the forefront of her mind unbidden, making her heart beat faster and her cheeks flush.

Maybe Serena didn’t want Dom. Maybe she just wanted Bernie. Maybe, after whatever had happened to change a casual text at lunchtime into a desperate sounding one by 3pm, Serena had only been able to think of one person who could make it better.

Bernie practically ran out of Barons Court tube and was at Serena’s door in four minutes flat, out of breath and flushed from the exertion. She knocked on Serena’s door a little harder than she’d intended then waited, shifting her weight nervously from one foot to the other. Just as she was on the point of knocking again, she heard a key turning in the lock.

The door swung open, revealing Serena standing in her hallway wearing a black vest top over blue jeans. Her feet were bare. Bernie took all that in within a fraction of a second before her attention was seized by Serena’s face.

Her cheeks were pale as chalk dust and her lips seemed somehow thinner. But it was her eyes that made Bernie’s heart clench and her stomach drop: they were red rimmed and shining even now with tears that were yet to be shed. “Serena…” Bernie breathed, stepping over the threshold and closing the door behind her.

Serena’s face crumpled before her eyes. “Bernie,” she sobbed, then fell forwards into Bernie’s waiting arms. Bernie caught her, holding her close, her hands curling naturally round her shoulders.

“Sssh…” she hummed. “It’s all right, darling. I’ve got you.” 

She tightened her hold, feeling Serena shudder against her, feeling her neck growing wet from her friend’s tears. She smoothed her hands over Serena’s hair, her back, her shoulders, alternating between stroking and patting. It took her a few moments to really notice the cuts - some recent, still red and raised; some already turning into scars.

“What happened?” she whispered. She felt Serena shake her head against her neck, sniffing as she pulled back.

“She doesn’t mean it,” she said shakily. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing.” She swiped at her wet eyes. “Really.”

Bernie frowned for a second before comprehension dawned. She remembered Adrienne’s hands the night she’d stayed for dinner, how she’d been so proud to show off- “Her rings?”

Serena looked away. “Well, they’re sharp,” she mumbled. “I, uh...I had to take them off her today. She didn’t take it very well.”

Bernie reached out for Serena, taking her by the hand. Serena linked their fingers together gratefully, holding on tight. “Where is she now?” Bernie asked gently.

“Asleep.” Serena nodded towards the back of the hallway. “Her room’s at the back of the flat. I, uh…” She flushed as she spoke, her jaw tightening. “I gave her a sleeping pill. I just couldn’t…”

“It’s okay,” Bernie reassured her immediately. “Don’t worry, Serena. I’m here now. I’m here.”

Serena’s eyes slid closed as she sucked in a breath. “You don’t know why I asked you to come round yet.”

Bernie frowned in confusion. “There’s more?”

Serena laughed mirthlessly. “You have no idea.” She pulled away from Bernie and moved over to the hall table, picking up a piece of paper. “It came this morning, but I didn’t have a chance to read it until after lunch.”

She handed the letter to Bernie with a slight tremble. Frowning, Bernie skimmed through it, her eyes widening when one phrase in particular jumped out at her.

“Fit for work!”

Serena nodded, then turned and headed towards the kitchen where she began making tea, more to give herself something to do with her hands than anything else, Bernie suspected. She watched as Serena dumped three spoonfuls of sugar into her mug, then raised it to her lips with shaky hands.

Bernie read the letter through again, more carefully this time, barely able to believe what she was seeing. The idea that any medical professional could have assessed Adrienne and come to the conclusion that she could hold down a job was so ridiculous it was almost comical, or at least it would have been if it wasn’t so serious. 

“She had to fill out this form first of all,” Serena said. “The questions were just...inane. One of them asked if she could lift an empty cardboard box from the floor to waist height. Because that’s a common job skill.”

Bernie shook her head in disbelief. “But surely if someone just  _ spoke  _ to her...” she said, then trailed off, thinking of how Adrienne had seemed quite well to her just a couple of Saturdays ago. If she’d been assessed on one of her good days...if the assessor had been incentivised to reject claims, which everyone knew they were…

“They’re stopping her ESA and PIP right away,” Serena continued, her voice a dull monotone. “They want the last two months’ worth of payments returned too. I’ll have to cancel the care agency. There’s no way Marjorie and I can afford to keep Carol on. I…” She trailed off, her voice cracking. “This is Maureen all over again.”

Bernie’s heart broke. Elphaba was Serena’s dream role, the culmination of all her years toiling in obscurity. If she had to pull out now… 

“No,” Bernie said firmly, insistently. She took Serena’s mug from her and placed it on the kitchen counter before grasping her hands and linking their fingers together. “This isn’t like that. We’ll appeal. First thing tomorrow I’ll get in touch with my friend Rachel. She’s a disability rights lawyer. There’s no way this decision will stand up at a tribunal.” She sought out Serena’s eyes with hers, trying to transmit reassurance and strength through willpower alone. “We can do this, Serena. We’ll beat this. I promise.”

Serena stared at her, blinking hard, unable to focus on anything but one word of what Bernie had just said. “We?” she whispered tremulously.

Bernie’s forehead creased in confusion. “Of course.” Wasn’t this why Serena had called her? Didn’t she know how much Bernie wanted to help her? “I’ve got your back, Serena. You must know that.” She squeezed Serena’s fingers a little tighter. “I always have. I always will.”

A single tear escaped from each of Serena’s eyes and rolled silently down her cheeks. “I’m so tired,” she whispered. “I’ve tried so hard to hold everything together. For years. I...I’m scared, Bernie.”

“Don’t be scared.” Bernie raised her hands and cupped Serena’s face, wiping away her tears with her thumbs. “You are the most fantastic...the most fearless person I’ve ever known. Serena…”

Serena blinked slowly. There was an unreadable expression on her face, like she was seeing Bernie for the first time. A weak smile appeared on her lips, the faint laughter lines round her mouth and eyes creasing ever so slightly.

Bernie didn’t mean to do it. She really didn’t mean to do it. But Serena was so beautiful and so sad, and Bernie just wanted to do something, anything, to make it better; to show her she wasn’t alone, that she was cared for, that Bernie would be there for her through all of this. Through anything.

So she kissed her.

It lasted for no more than five glorious seconds before Bernie realised what she was doing. Panic rising in her chest, she pulled back, trying not to cry out at the loss of Serena’s warmth, her softness, her salt-tainted kiss. She opened her eyes, meeting Serena’s gaze, expecting to see confusion, pity, maybe even anger.

She didn’t.

But she didn’t have time to process what she saw instead because Serena was surging forward, letting out a tiny whimper of surrender, chasing Bernie’s lips and claiming them.

Against all expectations, Serena kissed her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you expect me to make you wait until the very end for a kiss? Don't worry guys; it's slow burn, not charcoal making. By the way, if you feel like getting angry at the way the British government treats disabled people, click on [this](http://www.independent.co.uk/voices/disability-assessment-pip-esa-appeals-something-is-wrong-a7635221.html).


	13. Just For This Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Bernie has ever wanted to do is take care of Serena.

_I’ve lost all resistance, and crossed some border line_

For a moment it was awkward, a little too desperate, a touch too frantic. Serena’s hands were gripping Bernie’s forearms, roaming up to her shoulders before fluttering back down to her wrists, like she wanted to touch all of Bernie all at once, like she couldn’t get enough. Their lips parted with a gasp and Bernie expected Serena to pull back, to blink in surprise, to mutter a rebuke or an apology. She didn’t expect the darkness of her eyes or the desire shining from her face or the deep, husky quality of her voice. “Bernie…” Serena whispered against her slightly parted lips, and then she melted into her, turning her head slightly to the side and somehow finding a way to kiss Bernie better, more deeply than before. A soft noise of relief escaped from Bernie’s throat and she wrapped her arms round Serena’s shoulders, pulling her close until they were pressed flush against each other: breast to breast, belly to belly, thigh to thigh.

Serena’s hands fell to Bernie’s waist, curling round her hip bones and grasping just the right side of too tightly. Her tongue caressed Bernie’s bottom lip, seeking and finding. Bernie moaned into Serena’s mouth, her lips parting in response to the other woman’s silent invitation, the kiss turning desperate again, but so different now, so warm and deep and soft yet hard at the same time. Bernie’s head was swimming in sensation, thoughts careering through her mind like leaves in a strong autumn wind, and she had been right before: Serena’s kiss was like wine and she was drunk with it and the only thought she could keep in focus for longer than a fraction of an instant was that she was kissing Serena Campbell, her friend and her so much more than a friend, and that Serena was kissing her back like she’d wanted this too, like she’d been longing for Bernie’s mouth and her hands and her body just like Bernie had been aching for Serena.

Bernie felt a tugging at her shoulders and frowned in confusion until she realised that Serena’s hands were pushing her leather jacket off, gently but insistently. She relaxed and let it happen, then jumped a little at the sound of the heavy material hitting the kitchen floor. The noise shocked their lips apart. They stood, still pressed tightly together, their breath coming fast and shallow, their eyes wild. Serena’s lips curled into a shy smile as she looked away. “Sorry,” she breathed, but she didn’t sound sorry, Bernie thought. She sounded almost...happy. Relieved. Like a balloon of tension had popped inside her and she could relax for the first time in too long.

“Are you kidding?” Bernie replied reflexively. “I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks.”

It was the right thing to say because Serena smiled again, tremulously this time, like her chest was swelling with some overwhelming emotion. Then her dark eyes flicked back to Bernie’s lips and Bernie barely had a moment to prepare herself before she was being kissed again, Serena’s lips so soft and so gentle as they melted against hers, her breath ghosting over Bernie’s cheek as she exhaled through her nose, her hands coming up to tangle in messy blonde curls, her fingers scratching gently over her scalp and sending sparks of electricity down her spine. Bernie arched her back, pressing impossibly closer, feeling Serena’s curves mesh effortlessly with her own and allowing her heart to swell with a tiny, experimental happiness.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew they should stop, that they needed to talk at the very least, that they couldn’t just spend the whole evening kissing in Serena’s kitchen while the tea steadily went cold. Then Serena’s hands slid down from her hair to curl around her neck, to caress the wild pulse hammering in her throat, and she forgot why that was important in a rush of desire. She needed to feel Serena’s skin under her hands. Nothing mattered but finding out if Serena felt like silk or velvet, if her muscles were soft or firm, if her flesh would tremble or go taut under Bernie’s caress. Hands shaking, Bernie pushed the hem of Serena’s vest top up and slid her fingers across her stomach, feeling the other woman’s muscles clench and her breath catch. She was like neither silk nor velvet; she was so impossibly softer and more fantastic than either, warm and wonderful. Bernie never wanted to stop touching her.

The sound of the front door opening and banging closed wrenched them apart. Bernie stared at Serena, wide-eyed and confused, her brow furrowing as she took in her friend’s kiss-bruised lips and heaving chest. Serena looked equally perplexed, like a drunk trying to process some piece of information and finding her mind sluggish and unresponsive. Then her eyes widened and she pulled away from Bernie, already halfway to the kitchen door before she spoke.

“Mum!”

Bernie remained glued to the spot for a second longer until what Serena had said penetrated the flare of hormones her kiss had ignited. “Shit,” she muttered and followed Serena from the room.

She was just in time to see Serena barrelling out the front door, her feet still bare, her shoulders and arms unprotected from the chill evening air. Bernie followed her, thinking at the last second to flick the snib on the Yale lock so that they wouldn’t all be locked out when they came back. She flew out onto the street, looking around frantically, eyes searching for Serena or Adrienne.

There was a recreation ground just across the road and Adrienne had somehow managed to get across to it without being hit by a passing car. Serena was on the kerb, obviously about to throw herself across the road, heedless of the traffic, when Bernie grabbed her by the arm, pulling her back from the side of the road before she could make her move. Serena rounded on her, her eyes panicked, a protest on her lips, but Bernie shook her head firmly.

“Go back inside,” she said. “Put on some shoes and a jacket, and get footwear for your mum. I’ll go after her.”

Serena looked for a second like she might protest. Bernie’s eyes bore into her and she squeezed her arm a little more tightly, trying to communicate without words that Serena could depend on her, that she could trust her to do this one thing, that she wasn’t alone in this. After a moment Serena nodded, her eyes glistening, and turned on her heels to dash back to the flat. Bernie was across the street in a moment, weaving between the traffic, ignoring the honks of horns and the gesticulations of passing drivers. She reached the fence and decided to hop over it rather than detour the twenty feet to the park gate. She could see Adrienne just a little way ahead, the hem of her nightgown grazing the damp ground, her bare feet sinking into the grass.

“Mrs McKinnie!” Bernie called as her long legs ate up the distance between them. “Hi. How are you?”

Adrienne turned to her with a frown on her face, looking around the park like she’d never seen it before. “I’m looking for my daughter,” she said pitifully. “I sent her to play in the park. But I can’t find the swings.”

Bernie glanced back to Serena’s front door but there was no sign of her friend yet. “Oh, really? They must be around here somewhere. Why don’t I help you look?”

She held out her arm and Adrienne took it gratefully, leaning into the younger woman. Bernie linked their hands together and patted her arm. “Why don’t you tell me about your daughter, hmm?” she said, and they began to walk together.

* * * * *

Serena tried and failed to tie her bootlaces three times before she finally gave in and stopped to breathe. She closed her eyes and pressed the heel of her hands into them until she could see flashes of colour like fireworks against the darkness, breathed deeply, tried to still the hammering of her heart. “It’s all right,” she said into the empty hallway. “She’s with Bernie. Bernie will look after her.”

_Bernie._

Her heart began to hammer for an altogether different reason as her mind flashed to what they had been doing, what her mother had interrupted. She could still feel Bernie’s lips tingling on her own, still feel the heat on her skin where Bernie had touched her. Her mind was swimming with contradictory thoughts: worry for Adrienne and desire for Bernie battling for supremacy.

She opened her eyes and blinked a few times while she waited for the dark spots to clear from her vision. The first thing she saw was the open kitchen door and Bernie’s soft leather jacket lying on the floor. Without conscious thought, Serena found herself walking towards it, picking it up and burying her face in the lining, breathing in the scent of leather and Bernie and feeling herself grow calm. Impulsively she slipped the jacket on, feeling it hug her curves a little more snugly than it did on Bernie’s slightly thinner, lankier frame. She felt more prepared instantly, ready to face what the evening and night would bring now that she had a little piece of Bernie wrapped around her, lending her strength. Her hands were steady now, able to tie the laces of her boots and grab a pair of slip on shoes and a jacket for her mother without trembling. She remembered to bring the key this time as she left the house, slipping it into her jeans pocket as she emerged once again onto the street.

She found Bernie and Adrienne halfway around the park, sitting together on a bench. Adrienne was leaning on Bernie and Bernie had her arm round the older woman’s shoulders, rubbing her upper arm through the thin material of her nightdress. Serena could tell from a distance that they were talking and that her mother was calm and that was better than she’d expected.

Bernie saw her before Adrienne. Her face lit up in a smile that Serena couldn’t help but return. “Hello, you,” Bernie said softly, then turned to Adrienne. “Look, Mrs McKinnie. It’s Serena.”

Adrienne raised her head but she seemed to look past her daughter. Serena’s smile faltered. “Let’s get your shoes on,” she murmured past a sudden lump in her throat. She knelt in the wet grass, feeling the dew seeping into the knees of her jeans. Her fingers fumbled with Adrienne’s feet, trying to slip her shoes on with a minimum of fuss, but Adrienne was restless now, squirming on the bench and agitated.

“Leave me alone,” she grumbled, kicking Serena’s hands away. “I don’t know you.”

Bernie pulled Adrienne minutely closer to her side. “Why don’t you tell me about Serena when she was a child, Mrs McKinnie?” she said. “I’d love to hear about her. Hey, what about that time she sneaked out of the house to go to her friend’s treehouse, hmm?”

Adrienne began to tell the story, laughing a little at the funny parts. Bernie nodded along and smiled in all the right places, glancing occasionally at Serena’s stricken face and trying to project her affection and care through her gaze alone.

Adrienne was calmer when the story ended, turning to smile at Bernie. She reached up and stroked a lock of hair back from her face. “You should cut your fringe dear. I don’t know how you see through that mop.”

“With some difficulty,” Bernie replied, smiling. Below them Serena managed to slip a now slightly more compliant Adrienne’s shoes on, attracting her mother’s attention. She patted her daughter’s head absently.

“Isn’t it about time that you changed your hairstyle Serena; you’ve had that boy’s cut for years.”

Serena choked back a sob. She’d cut her hair just a couple of months ago when it became clear that giving her mother something to hold onto when she was in a confused rage was not the best idea. Adrienne’s concept of time was so tenuous now; days, months, years, they were all jumbled up in her mind. Still, the sentiment was so like Adrienne - the real Adrienne - that Serena found herself leaning into her mother’s hand.

“Well I never thought I’d say it but I’ve almost missed your rather abrupt critiques of my personal appearance.”

She looked up into her mother’s face. Adrienne was smiling now, but her eyes were sad and lucid. “I know I’m a nuisance-”

“Don’t say that-”

“I am. That’s one of the hardest things I have to deal with.” She paused for a breath and her eyes filled with tears. “You will look after me, won’t you?”

Tears slid down Serena’s cheeks as she leaned up to meet her mother, resting their foreheads together for a brief second before enfolding her in a tight embrace. With one hand she reached out to Bernie, feeling herself steady when her friend tangled their fingers together and held tight.

“Come on,” Serena said after a minute. “Let’s get you back inside.”

Between the two of them they got Adrienne up and put her jacket on her. They each took a side to escort her back, their hands staying held tightly together as they shepherded Adrienne back over the road and into the flat.

When they were inside, Adrienne turned to Bernie. “You’re a wonderful singer, you know,” she said, smiling a little shyly.

Bernie blinked, surprised. “Oh!” she said. “Uhm...thank-you. Uh...you’ve heard me sing?”

Adrienne’s smile widened. “Of course. George and I saw you at Her Majesty’s in 1986. There’s never been a better Christine.”

Serena closed her eyes in quiet despair. She was gone again, lost in the past. “Let’s go and sit down mum,” she said, ushering Adrienne into the living room.

“Do you know who this is, darling?” Adrienne gushed, allowing herself to be led. “Jocasta Dunn. _The_ Jocasta Dunn!” She turned to Bernie again. “I saw you when I was pregnant with my second daughter. She’s a singer too you know. I think she caught the musical bug in the womb.”

Bernie sat down with Adrienne, her mind spinning as she tried to think of what to say. She looked up at Serena, hoping for guidance, but all she saw was a deep, profound sadness that made her heart ache. So she did the only thing she could think to do. “Would you like me to sing for you now, Mrs McKinnie?” Adrienne’s response was rapturous, her face lighting up in childlike wonder and glee.

Serena stood back from them, retreating to the doorway. She watched as Bernie altered her posture, pushing her shoulders back, straightening her spine. Somehow, she knew what Bernie would sing before she even opened her mouth.

_“Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye. Remember me once in a while, please promise me you'll try.”_

Serena had listened to Jocasta Dunn singing on the original cast recording of _Phantom of the Opera_ more times than she could count. How had she never noticed how similar Bernie sounded to her mother? She could close her eyes and imagine that it was the legendary Jocasta Dunn in her sitting room right now, rather than her daughter. But she didn’t want to. She wanted to look at Bernie, to drink her in, to open up all her senses and feel her closer than her own skin.

Adrienne’s eyes slid closed as Bernie sang and Serena thought she could see the exact moment that she fell asleep, slumped against the sofa cushions. Bernie saw it too and her voice trailed off, the last few notes echoing around the room.

Without really being aware of what she was doing, Serena opened her mouth. _“What a change, you’re really not a bit the gawkish girl that once you were,”_ she sang softly, almost too quietly to be heard. _“She may not remember me, but I remember her...”_

She looked at Bernie then, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Bernie was on her feet in an instant, crossing the room in two long strides and enfolding her in a warm embrace. Serena buried her face in Bernie’s chest and sobbed once, then again.

“Sssh, darling,” Bernie whispered. “I’ve got you. I promise.”

“Don’t leave,” Serena gasped, sliding her arms around Bernie’s waist and holding her tight. “Stay with me tonight.”

Bernie hesitated. Every instinct she had was telling her to bolt, to escape from her desire for Serena before it caused irreparable damage to their friendship. What they had already done could be walked back - written off as a simple reaction to the stress of the day, to the emotions that had been stirred up by that awful letter. But if she stayed…

“Please,” Serena whispered, and Bernie was lost. Serena needed her. Ultimately, that was all that mattered. Serena was asking Bernie to look after her and wasn’t that what she’d been trying to do, in one way or another, since the moment they’d met: with words and coffee and scarves and nights of research and café bookings? This was no different, in the end.

Bernie leaned down and kissed her, slow and sweet, feeling Serena melt into her arms with a sigh. “Go and put your mother back to bed,” she whispered when their lips parted. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

The minutes alone passed in a daze. Bernie paced through the living room, looking at the pictures on the walls and the books on the shelves without really seeing them. She stopped in front of a framed picture of Serena: a cast still of her in costume as Titania in _A Midsummer Night’s Dream._ She looked young. Bernie thought that perhaps it was a drama school production.

Serena found her like that, staring at the photo and so rapt that she didn’t hear her friend’s approach. Serena had shed the jacket and boots she’d hastily pulled on when her mother had led them on her little jaunt and was now barefoot again, padding silently up and sliding her arms round Bernie’s waist. The blonde jumped a little in surprise but soon settled back against her. “I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again,” Serena breathed into her ear. “Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note.”

Bernie turned in her arms. “Is that what you want? For me to sing for you?”

Serena’s eyes darkened. “No,” she purred, then buried her hands in Bernie’s hair and pulled her mouth down for a kiss.

This kiss was different than the ones that had come before: not awkward and fumbling, not desperate and frantic. It was warm and familiar, soft and wonderful. Despite that, it somehow managed to reignite Serena’s desire almost instantly. She moaned into Bernie’s mouth and deepened the kiss, letting her hands drop to Bernie’s waist to curl round her hips and hold on tight. She felt herself being walked backwards and grunted when she hit the wall, but within seconds she was arching her back, pressing into Bernie, wrapping her leg around Bernie’s calf and trapping the other woman between her thighs. Bernie breathed hard through her nose, devouring Serena’s lips in wet, open-mouthed kisses as she fumbled with the hem of her vest top, tugging it up her body and breaking their kiss just long enough to pull it completely off. She stopped for a moment, her eyes dark and liquid with desire as she took in the vision of Serena standing before her wearing nothing but jeans and a plain black bra, her chest heaving and flushed with yearning.

“You are _so_ beautiful,” Bernie whispered reverently, trailing trembling fingers over the curve of Serena’s hip and the slight swell of her stomach. She felt Serena’s muscles clench beneath her caress and swallowed hard.

Serena reached up and cupped Bernie’s cheek with one hand. _“You’re_ beautiful,” she said, and leaned forward for another long, slow, deliriously wonderful kiss. She trailed her hand down Bernie’s arm when it was over, tangling their fingers together and squeezing tight. She pushed off from the wall, pulling Bernie along behind her with a gentle tug. Wordlessly, Bernie followed.

Serena’s bedroom was softly lit with a lamp on the bedside table and a string of fairy lights wrapped around the intricate metalwork of the headboard. Serena left the door slightly ajar before turning to Bernie and staring deep into her eyes. “Please,” she whispered, and that was all it took to make Bernie surge forward, claiming Serena’s lips in a deep, frantic kiss, her hands in her hair, on her back, her arms, her shoulders, seemingly everywhere at once and yet somehow not enough.

Serena tugged at Bernie’s jumper, something soft and expensive looking that she wanted to see crumpled on the floor. Bernie allowed their lips to part just long enough to pull it off, along with the t-shirt she was wearing underneath it, so she too was standing in jeans and a bra, shivering slightly as goosebumps erupted on her newly exposed flesh.

“Gorgeous,” Serena murmured and kissed her again, walking backwards and pulling Bernie along with her until the back of her knees hit the mattress and she tumbled onto it. Bernie fell forward with her, her hair cascading around their faces, creating a soft curtain around their unbroken kiss.

She felt Bernie’s fingers fumbling with the button of her jeans and groaned softly, lifting her hips to allow Bernie to pull them from her unresisting body. Bernie’s hands slid up her now naked legs, ghosting lightly over her ankles and calves and thighs. And then, within what felt like seconds, Bernie managed to divest her of her bra and knickers too. She trembled a little under the other woman’s adoring gaze; not self-conscious, not really, but almost overwhelmed by the weight of emotion radiating from Bernie’s rapturous face.

“I’m going to take such good care of you,” Bernie whispered, her eyes roaming greedily over Serena’s face, her heaving chest, the swell of her breasts with their rapidly tightening nipples, the dip of her waist, the darkness between her thighs. Hand trembling, she reached out and caressed her throat, feeling the jumping pulse and sighing in wonder that she was allowed to do this, that Serena was letting her look and touch.

She leaned down and kissed her again, a soft and tender touch that quickly turned heated as Serena arched up against her. “Please, Bernie,” Serena whispered between kisses. “I need to feel you.”

Nodding, Bernie allowed Serena to peel off her jeans, to remove her bra and socks and underwear, whimpering in pure joy at the first press of naked skin to naked skin when Serena opened her arms and pulled her close. Their curves met and meshed together, their bodies falling into an instinctive rhythm as they kissed and stroked and sighed into the dim light of Serena’s bedroom.

“Let me take care of you, darling,” Bernie whispered, her hand caressing the curve of Serena’s breast while her mouth pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses onto the pale column of her throat.

“Yes,” Serena hissed, biting her lip to keep from crying out. “Please...oh my darling, please…”

Bernie could do nothing but answer her pleas. She slid her hand down the length of Serena’s torso, holding herself back a little to watch the reaction of her hot, overstimulated skin to her gentle touch. Serena shuddered beneath her, her legs parting instinctively as Bernie’s hand reached her thigh. Bernie reacted instantly to the implicit invitation, bringing her hand round to stroke Serena’s leg from the knee to the hip, skirting closer and closer with each pass to the juncture of her thighs. By the time she allowed her fingers to touch - just the barest hint of contact - Serena was already panting and keening her desire into the quiet of the room.

“I’m not going to tease you,” Bernie murmured. “I want you to feel good, Serena. I’m going to make you feel so good, I promise.”

Serena could only manage an incoherent moan in response, but that was all the encouragement that Bernie needed to slip her fingers between Serena’s legs, feeling the softness, the wet heat, the visceral evidence of Serena’s desire. “Oh, Serena,” she breathed, rapturous and adoring, before giving in to temptation and sliding two fingers inside, feeling Serena clench her muscles as if to hold on to her.

Serena’s hands gripped her shoulders almost painfully as she pulled her down for a kiss, breathless and frantic and wet. Their tongues tangled together in a steady rhythm; the same rhythm Bernie was setting between Serena’s legs, thrusting and pressing and angling her hipbone in just exactly the right way to provide the delightful friction Serena’s body craved.

“Oh God,” Serena moaned, tearing her kiss-swollen lips from Bernie’s after several minutes of torturous pleasure, breathing hard. “It’s going to be so fast.” She could already feel herself starting to throb and Bernie felt so good, amazingly good, too good for her to hold out.

Bernie responded by pulling Serena’s body closer to her, bringing her thumb up to add to the delicious pressure between her legs, peppering her face with kisses. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “I’ve got you, darling. I’ve got you.”

Serena sobbed her pleasure into the crook of Bernie’s neck, her whole body taut and straining, but it wasn’t until she looked up and met those soft, dark eyes, full of kindness and care and another emotion that she didn’t dare name, that she let herself go.

“Bernie,” she whispered, pulling her lips into a kiss and shuddering in her arms, trembling and gasping through waves of pleasure so intense that they chased away every other thought in her head. She felt light, like she was made of feathers, floating free of gravity for one wonderful, endless instant.

The stress of the evening was gone, the pain of her mother’s condition, the worry about the future - none of that mattered compared to the sense of absolute contentment and joy she was feeling, wrapped up safe in Bernie’s arms, with Bernie’s kiss on her lips and Bernie’s hands stroking her back as she finally came down from that ecstatic high.

They lay together for a silent minute, breathing together, deep and slow. Eventually Bernie pulled back a little, dropping a tender kiss onto her temple.

“Thank you,” she whispered against her hair, and Serena frowned.

“I think that’s my line,” she said, feeling Bernie’s answering chuckle as a deep rumble against her chest. She reached for her, her hands caressing her back, her lips trailing over her forehead and cheeks, but Bernie stilled her movements with a gentle shake of her head.

“I just want to hold you,” she murmured. “May I?”

Serena’s heart clenched at the uncertainty in Bernie’s voice. “Of course, darling,” she said. “Whatever you want.” She kissed her softly, slow and sweet, then laid her head on her chest, curling round Bernie’s slightly taller body, feeling Bernie’s arms tighten around her. “I think I dreamed about this,” she whispered, breathing in the now familiar scent of soap and shampoo and Bernie’s skin and feeling her chest expand with affection and gratitude for the wonderful woman in her arms.

“I think this _is_ a dream,” Bernie murmured back. Serena frowned, tried to say that no, this was real, she was real, but all that came out was a yawn. She felt tired all of a sudden, her body and mind both reacting at last to the stress and emotion of the night. Bernie pressed a kiss onto her forehead. “It’s okay,” she said, so, so gently. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Serena nodded, her eyes heavy. She tried to fight it but it was no use. Slowly and inexorably she began to relax. At last, feeling warm, comfortable and - above all - safe and protected in the circle of Bernie’s arms, she slipped into a deep, blessedly dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freakout cancelled or postponed? You probably know which one it is. Also, yes, I did just give Bernie's mother Sarah Brightman's role as the original Christine in _Phantom_. You can [listen to the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8SF33K1ts-E&ab_channel=CoolMapleStore), if you like. I don't like _Phantom_ particularly, but I do quite like the song.


	14. There’s No Future For Us as a Pair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie and Serena deal with the morning after the night before.

_Borrow the moonlight,_  
_Until it is through…_

Bernie didn’t sleep. She didn’t think she’d wanted to sleep less in her entire life. If she slept then this night would be over. She’d wake in the morning, the cold light of day replacing the silvery moonlight shining through Serena’s bedroom window, and she’d have to return to reality. She didn’t want that. She wanted to stay in this bubble, forever if at all possible. She brought her hand up to stroke yet again through Serena’s silken hair, sighing at the texture, the exquisite softness between her fingertips.

It had been a mistake to let herself feel this, that much was obvious. How was she supposed to go back to everyday life knowing the taste of Serena’s lips, the sound of her pleasure, the texture of her most intimate places, without going mad with frustrated desire? Because she knew they had to go back. There was no future on this path. Serena would see that herself, before long.

“You deserve so much better than me,” she whispered against Serena’s forehead, feeling the skin beneath her lips crinkle as the other woman frowned in her sleep, a tiny, drowsy sound of confusion escaping her slightly parted lips. Bernie soothed the frown with a kiss and Serena calmed immediately, seeming to relax imperceptibly more into Bernie’s loose embrace.

“Bernie…” she mumbled, then dropped down deeper into sleep again, leaving the shallows of almost-consciousness behind. Bernie resolved not to speak out loud again. Serena needed this sleep. Despite her respite of the night before she was running on a continual deficit, thanks to her role as Adrienne’s only night-time carer.

Bernie’s heart ached as she thought of Serena’s mother: the way she’d looked past Serena like she wasn’t there, the way she’d kicked and struggled and denied knowing her in the park. She couldn’t imagine how heartbreaking it must be to watch someone you love slowly slipping away; to see the spark of them, the life of them just disappear like slowly melting ice, diminished a little more each day, yet still resembling the original so much that it was a fresh punch in the gut every time you were reminded that nothing was the same. She thought of Serena, bravely bearing the weight of all that for two years, soldiering on, doing what needed to be done, and felt admiration and respect and affection surge through her. She tightened her hold on Serena, running her hand across the soft skin of her shoulders, feeling the raised bumps of fresh cuts and scarred over wounds.

Serena was so brave. And Bernie...Bernie was not.

She would do many things for Serena, she knew. She would stand up to Guy Self or Henrik Hanssen or anyone in their workplace on Serena’s behalf. She would run out into traffic to chase after her confused mother. She would fight the DWP, the whole government, every single Tory in Whitehall, to ensure her peace of mind. She would place her own body between Serena and harm in an instant, without a single thought. And she would be there for her whenever she was needed, whenever she called; she would drop everything and rush to her side. All of that was a kind of bravery.

But there were some things she knew she couldn’t do. She couldn’t hold Serena’s hand out on the street. She couldn’t stand up to her father, tell him to go hang if he didn’t approve of her life. She couldn’t speak aloud the words that were screaming in the depths of her heart. Could she?

 _Could_ she?

For a brief second, she allowed herself to imagine a world where she could do all those things. What would that be like? If she could be with Serena...if Serena wanted her…wanted her for more than just this one night...

A sudden rush of blood to the head made her feel dizzy, even lying down. The fierceness of her longing had taken her by surprise, the visceral reaction to the images her mind conjured, to how wonderful life could be, if only she were brave enough.

She shook her head firmly. It couldn’t happen. It wouldn’t happen. But oh god, how she wished…Now that she’d had a taste of what she wanted, she thought she might never remember how to want anything else.

If only she hadn’t kissed her. If only she hadn’t touched her. If only she hadn’t let herself fall in love with her.

Wait, love?

Panic gripped her, cold and clammy, as she considered the idea that had flitted through her traitorous mind. She forced it down, trying to push it into a small, dark corner deep inside where she kept all of her most inconvenient emotions. But there was something else already there, something that had been growing for a while, quietly and unobtrusively and irresistibly.

Yes. Love.

For a second, Bernie allowed herself to feel it; the beauty of it, the joy, the liquid warmth of that unfamiliar emotion. This wasn’t how she’d felt about Alex. She’d never felt like this about anyone.

Then, just as suddenly, the tiny, experimental flame of happiness was doused by a wave of despair. Because what good was her love? How could she offer it to Serena when she couldn’t offer anything else?

She looked out of the window, tears pricking her eyes, and was amazed to discover that the moon had set, that milky pre-dawn light was now brightening the horizon. The night had flown past so quickly.

She glanced down into Serena’s face - so beautiful, so peaceful - and sighed. It was nearly time to return to the real world.

She pressed a last, lingering kiss to Serena’s forehead, trying to memorise the texture of her skin, the warmth of her, her scent. Then, at last, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to sleep the last hour of the night away.

* * * * *

When Serena returned to consciousness the sun was already high in the sky, shining through her window at just the right angle to fall on her bleary, sleep-tinged eyes. “Mmmph,” she grumbled, raising a hand to cover her face. Had she forgotten to close the curtains last night? And what had happened to her alarm? It was late, much later than she’d slept in months...years, maybe.

Her mind was foggy with sleep, struggling to get up to speed. It was Saturday. That was one thing. Good - no rehearsals, at least she wasn’t late for anything important. Something niggled at the back of her mind, something important, something about last night…

“Bernie!”

Her eyes snapped open, then immediately squinted half closed again as her pupils shrunk painfully when confronted with the brightness of the room. When she felt able, she looked around the place, searching for any evidence of her friend’s presence. Her clothes were gone from the floor. Serena’s had been picked up and folded neatly, left at the foot of the bed. _How sweet,_ Serena thought. How Bernie.

Her whole body flushed as she thought about what they had done last night. Bernie’s swift response to her call for help, her dark eyes filled with empathy and affection, her soft lips caressing Serena’s own in kiss after kiss that had ignited something inside Serena that she hadn’t known was there.

It was still there, smouldering like dormant coals, just waiting for a puff of oxygen to flare it into full life again. But a presentiment of worry made her frown, a tiny knot forming in her stomach. Had Bernie gone? She’d said she’d be there when she woke up.

She had to know. Taking a deep breath, she swung her legs out of bed. She didn’t bother dressing, instead grabbing a terrycloth dressing gown from the back of the door and pulling it on.

It was odd that her mother hadn’t needed anything while she was sleeping in, Serena thought. She wondered what could have kept her so quiet, and then she opened her bedroom door and heard the faint strains of music coming from the living room. She recognised the piece immediately - it was from her West End cast recording of _Phantom of the Opera._ The singer was none other than Jocasta Dunn.

“This was her favourite part,” a familiar low voice rumbled just beyond the living room door.

A sigh of relief escaped Serena’s lips as she quietly pushed the door open. Bernie was sitting on the sofa with her mother, dressed in yesterday’s clothes and seemingly enthralled by the liner notes of Serena’s _Phantom_ CD. There were photos in there, Serena realised - photos of the original cast: photos of Bernie’s mother before she became Lady Wolfe; before she became Bernie’s mother at all. Bernie seemed fascinated by them, running her fingers over the monochrome representation of her mother’s face, occasionally pointing out some musical point to Adrienne who had her eyes closed and was swaying along to the music.

“Hello stranger,” Serena murmured, leaning against the doorframe with a fond smile on her face. Bernie turned to face her, her hair flipping and catching the morning sunlight like a shower of gold. Serena felt her breath catch at the guileless beauty of the motion.

“Hello,” Bernie replied, ducking her head shyly. “I hope you don’t mind that I let you sleep in. I thought you could use the rest.”

“Not at all.” Serena grinned wickedly. “Someone must have tired me out last night.” Her grin widened at Bernie’s answering blush.

“Uhm...I can sit with your mum for a while, if you want to, uh...have a shower or something.”

Serena paused for a moment, thinking of the fun she could have if her mother wasn’t right there. _Been imagining me naked and wet, have you?_ she might have said, if they were alone. The thought of it was enough to make her chuckle. “Thanks,” was all she said. “I won’t be long.”

Standing under the shower’s hot spray, she let her mind drift back to the night before. Bernie had been so wonderful, so perfect, so exactly what she’d needed, every step of the way. As a friend, she was everything anyone could want: supportive, free with her time, giving for the sake of it. As a lover she was...so much more. Tender, gentle, generous, affectionate. Even… Serena felt her heart quicken as the word flitted through her mind… Even loving.

She struggled to remember the last time someone had taken care of her so well. Julia? No, she had basically been a pillow queen, happy enough to let Serena do whatever she liked, but always “so tired darling” whenever it looked like Serena would appreciate some reciprocation. Edward? Not a chance. He’d always had one eye on the next girl, be it recent drama school grads with stars in their eyes or big-breasted pub barmaids. He’d never actually paid her enough attention to find out what she liked. Certainly not Robbie, who’d never actually stayed the night, a fact she was more than thankful for now.

No, she concluded at last, no-one had ever made her feel that good that quickly. It was like Bernie had known exactly where to touch, how firm to be or how gentle, what to say and when to be quiet, without even needing to think about it. It was like when they acted together or when they sang duets, Serena realised in a rush. Chemistry. Pure chemistry.

She found herself singing under her breath as she got dressed and smiled as she realised what melody had sprung to mind. _What is This Feeling,_ the first song she had sung with Bernie, all those many weeks ago. She’d disliked her then, crazy as it was to think of it now. Eaten up by her own petty jealousy and insecurity, she had written Bernie off before the other woman even had a chance. But they’d grown past all that, grown into friends, best friends even. And now...perhaps more. She felt her heart flush with warmth at the thought. At the possibility of more, with Bernie.

She strolled back into the living room, dressed in black trousers and a red blouse over a black camisole, toweling her hair dry. “Thanks,” she said, reaching out and patting Bernie’s shoulder, allowing her fingers to linger on the soft material of her jumper. Cashmere, perhaps. Soft, but nowhere near as soft as the skin beneath.

Bernie jumped a little at her touch. “Oh, ah...no problem.” She coughed. “Uhm, I made coffee. In the kitchen. Black, no sugar.”

Serena smiled. “You’re an angel.”

It took her a moment to realise that Bernie was following her from the room, trailing after her into the kitchen. Serena grabbed her coffee, sighing in contentment at her first caffeine hit. Bernie picked up her cup too, sipping it with a little less obvious pleasure than her friend. Her hand was slightly shaking.

“Everything all right?” Serena asked, frowning.

Bernie looked down at her feet. “Uhm…” she said slowly. “Can we talk? About last night?”

Serena felt the warm glow of happy possibility she’d been enjoying begin to cool. “Of course,” she said, leaning against the kitchen counter and taking another fortifying sip of coffee.

But Bernie didn’t seem to know what to say now she had permission. The silence stretched, growing more and more awkward and fragile with each passing moment. Serena’s morning happiness evaporated like a puddle on a midsummer day. Her heart clenched.

Bernie was obviously searching for a way to let her down gently. God, had she so badly misinterpreted what had gone on between them? She’d thought Bernie had wanted her. She _had_ wanted her, hadn’t she? She’d said she’d been wanting to kiss her for weeks.

But then...later...she flushed to think of it: how she’d cried in Bernie’s arms, how she’d begged her to stay. She’d appealed to her friend’s generous nature, her instinctive desire to care for and to protect. Oh God, had she taken advantage? Had she selfishly grabbed for more than Bernie had really been willing to give? Had that been why she wouldn’t let Serena touch her in return?

Her face paled and she gripped her mug more tightly. “Just say it, please Bernie.” Her voice sounded strange to her own ears, high and tight. Bernie flinched at the sound of it.

“Right,” she said. “The thing is, Serena...uhm...last night...you know, well, you were there…” She stopped and drew in a deep breath, seeming to steady herself. “It was a very emotional day.”

Serena’s heart sank. So she was right. Bernie had thought better of it, of them. “Yes,” she agreed, her voice stripped bare as a winter tree. “It certainly was that.”

“And,” Bernie soldiered on, “a day like that can make you do things you might think better of. In the cold light of day.”

Serena swallowed hard. Her eyes felt strange, tight and tingly, but she wouldn’t cry. She refused to cry. She nodded, not trusting her voice to speak. Bernie risked a glance at her before quickly looking away again.

“Serena...I kissed you because I wanted to, and beyond that I wasn’t really thinking.”

A mirthless laugh rose up in Serena’s throat, but came out as little more than a slightly breathy exhalation. “Me neither. Needless to say.”

“But I…” Bernie looked at her helplessly. “Serena...we’ve become such close friends.”

Serena’s jaw tightened. “So, you...uh…” She trailed off, deciding that she would make Bernie say it after all. She’d make Bernie be the one to hammer nails into the coffin of what they could have been.

Bernie glanced up at her from beneath her overlong fringe, attempting a smile. “I think we should toast our undeniable sexual chemistry...and say no more about it.”

Serena took a sip of her coffee to cover the sudden lump in her throat. It was hot and burned going down. She almost welcomed the pain. “You want to forget it ever happened.”

Bernie managed a small, slightly strangled laugh. “I think it’s wise?” She gestured with her right hand, holding the coffee mug in her left. “You, messy family situation; me, terminal closet case… As romances go, it’s a bit of a non-starter.”

Some deep reserve of pride made Serena smile and nod as she replied, “not exactly Mills and Boon, is it?” But in her mind, the only part of Bernie’s speech she could think about was _messy family situation._ Was that what was scaring her off? Adrienne and her needs? She couldn’t blame her if it was. Her mother’s condition was frightening and overwhelming for her own flesh and blood - why would Bernie want to take all that on if she didn’t have to?

Dimly, she became aware that Bernie was still speaking. “We do make a great team though,” she was saying. She held up her mug as if in a toast. “Here’s to keeping it confined to the theatre.”

Somehow, she’d never know how, Serena found the strength to smile, to raise her mug and clink it gently against Bernie’s. Her stomach was twisted in a knot. She hadn’t known it was possible to feel so awful on the inside while still maintaining a brave face. Apparently she was an even better actress than she’d ever suspected.

After that, it seemed like Bernie couldn’t wait to leave. Serena walked her to the door, maintaining a little more distance than she might normally in the cramped hallway. Bernie pulled on her jacket and turned to Serena, her dark eyes soft with concern. “Are we...are we okay?”

Serena smiled a tight little smile. “Of course darli-” She caught herself, flushing a deep red and forcing herself to look at the floor. “Of course, Bernie,” she said at last. Every muscle in her body was tense, straining with the effort of not collapsing in a heap then and there or - worse - throwing herself at Bernie and pleading for her to change her mind, to give her a chance.

Bernie smiled gently. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. I’ll...I’ll see you on Monday.”

Serena closed the door behind her as she left and immediately leaned her forehead against the cold, unyielding wood. Well. That was that. She felt tears begin to gather in her eyes. Her heart ached - physically _ached_ \- with the knowledge that something rare, something unutterably fragile and precious had just slipped through her fingers like grains of sand through an hourglass. And she wasn’t even sure how it had happened. All she knew was that this morning she’d woken up alive with suddenly revealed possibilities, pleased, excited, hopeful even. She had actually thought...had actually let herself believe… She flushed with embarrassment and self-recrimination as the tears finally began to fall. “Stupid, stupid, stupid idiot!”

She was unaware of Bernie on the other side of the door, a few scant inches of wood away, leaning forward with her hair tumbling round her face and hiding it from casual view as she rhythmically beat the heel of her hand against her forehead. “You stupid, stupid coward.”

For one wild instant, she thought about turning round, knocking on Serena’s door, pleading to be let back in so she could sweep Serena into her arms and never let her go. But it was a vain fantasy, nothing more. She couldn’t do that to Serena.

Slowly, she pulled herself up to her full height. She took a deep breath, then another, and squared her shoulders. Arranging her face into studied neutrality, she shook her head and stepped through the exterior door, onto the waiting street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. Please don't hate me too much!


	15. Not That Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie visits her mother and reveals an important truth.

_I wasn't born for the rose and pearl_

Bernie pulled out her mobile while she was still walking towards Holland Road, thumbing through the contacts until she found the entry she wanted. She’d met Rachel Gardner at school - they’d been boarders in the same dorm for a time, and quite close friends. Their lives had taken them down very different paths, but they still exchanged Christmas cards and birthday cards and met up for drinks once a year or so. Bernie had perhaps overstated the case a little when describing her as a disability rights lawyer, but she knew that she had represented a number of clients in fights with the DWP, and that she had a personal stake in cases like Adrienne’s because of her own mother, who had been diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis when Rachel was ten. The current UK government’s apparent war with the disabled was a frequent topic on their annual meetups.

The phone rang five times before Rachel picked up. “Bernie! This is a surprise. How are you?”

Bernie blanched at the question. It was silly - it was only a simple pleasantry after all, just something people said. And no-one ever actually wanted a genuine answer; they were just looking for a quick ‘I’m fine’ so they could get on with their own days. But for some reason, this morning Bernie felt compelled to tell the truth. Perhaps it was a palate cleanser after all the lies she’d told Serena.

“To be honest, uh...not great,” she said, gripping her phone a little tighter.

“Oh dear. Professional demon or personal?”

“Personal,” Bernie replied firmly.

Rachel’s tone was still fairly light. “The one that got away?”

Bernie had to stop in her tracks, the impact of that simple, teasing question hitting her like a right hook. “Very much the one,” she said, wincing at the mournful tone that had bled into her voice.

There was silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” Rachel said at last.

Bernie blinked away sudden tears, swiping at her eyes with her free hand. She didn’t deserve to cry. She had lied to Serena, by omission if nothing else. She didn’t want to forget what had happened between them. She didn’t think she ever could. But she had to try. For Serena’s own good, she had to try.

“I’ll be all right,” Bernie murmured, attempting to inject a note of brightness into her voice and failing miserably. “Listen Rachel, I’ve got a favour to ask of you.”

She explained the details of Adrienne’s case, sensing Rachel’s outrage building as she spoke. When she reached the part about the letter declaring her fit for work, Rachel could no longer contain herself.

“Bastards!” she exclaimed. “They just reject people as a matter of course, you know. They rely on people being too bewildered by the system to fight. Did you know 65% of ESA appeals see the decisions overturned? The system is not fit for purpose.”

Bernie nodded along. She’d heard it all before; this particular rant was familiar ground for them. “I completely agree. So, you’ll take the case.”

“Of course. I’ll clear the decks. Text me the daughter’s number and I’ll call her today.”

Bernie sighed with relief. “Great. Thanks. And listen - will you tell her you’re doing it pro bono? I’ll take care of the fee.”

There was silence on the line for a moment, long enough that Bernie pulled the phone from her ear for a second to check that they hadn’t been disconnected.

“Shit, Bernie. You’ve got it bad.”

Colour rushed to Bernie’s cheeks. “Yes, well…” she muttered. “Just don’t let on about the fee, okay? She, uh...well, let’s just say I doubt she’d accept.”

“If that’s what you want, Bern. What’s her name again?”

Bernie’s eyes slid closed. “Serena.” The word came out like a sigh.

After a few more pleasantries and promises to meet up soon, Bernie ended the call. She shivered in the sudden cold. The sun, so bright and strong earlier in the morning, had slipped behind a cloud at some point. Somehow the world looked very grey: colourless and bland.

She began walking again, lengthening her stride as spits of rain began to drip from the now leaden sky.

She could hear Dom and Cam in the living room when she arrived but she couldn’t face their smiling faces and innocuous questions just yet. Instead of detouring in to speak to them, she headed upstairs to her room. When the door was closed behind her she allowed herself a moment to slump back against it, her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking with the effort of suppressing the tears that her body was screaming out to expel. She concentrated on breathing - in, out, in, out - until she felt herself return to something like normality. The new normal anyway - the version of Bernie that had Serena Campbell living in her heart, and the memory of making love to her firmly rooted in her brain.

A shower seemed to be in order and she tried not to think, as she stood beneath the scalding hot spray for long minutes, that the water was washing away Serena’s scent, her touch, the memory of her presence. But, towelling herself off later, she discovered that it was not so. She could still feel the memory of Serena everywhere, burned onto her skin like a brand. It was comforting, in a way. A sweet torture.

“Knock knock,” a familiar voice called from the other side of the door, just after she’d finished pulling on leggings and an oversized jumper. It was Cam.

“Who’s there?” she called back, falling backwards onto her bed with a sigh.

“Honeycomb.”

“Honeycomb who?”

“Honey, comb your hair.”

It was an old joke, one of their mother’s, referring to the tangled mop of curls Bernie had always sported. No-matter what she did to it, her hair was wild and untamable. Her lips curled into a smile as she remembered all the times her mother had made that knock knock joke, then faltered as she remembered Serena running her fingers through her hair. She felt a stab of pain, sharp and piercing beneath the warmth of the memory.

“Come in,” she called, and managed a smile for Cam when he opened the door.

“Hey,” he said, flopping down onto the bed beside her. They both stared at the ceiling for a few moments. Bernie felt herself slowly relax, Cam’s warm presence performing its usual magic. It was no surprise that he had this effect - he had been her best friend and constant companion her whole life, after all. They’d shared everything, beginning in the womb. He was the one person in the world she trusted absolutely and without question.

“I slept with Serena,” she said, breaking the silence.

Cam slid his hand into hers and squeezed tight. “Well, that’s been on the cards for a while,” he said gently.

She frowned, turning onto her side so she could look at him. “What?”

“Bernie,” he said softly, “you and she have been dancing around each other for weeks. She looks at you like you’re the most amazing thing in the world.”

“Serena?” She shook her head, frantically replaying all her past interactions to see if she could detect the slightest hint of what Cameron was suggesting. “No. We’re colleagues...we’re friends-”

“I’ve seen you look at her in the same way,” Cam interrupted, and Bernie felt her mouth snap shut, her cheeks burning. He rolled onto his side too, gazing at her with kind, gentle eyes. “I take it the morning after was a bit awkward?”

Fresh tears stung Bernie’s eyes, but she blinked them away. “I took advantage,” she murmured, feeling her chest flood with shame. Haltingly, she explained what had happened the night before - Serena’s awful news, her agitation, her terror at the thought of having to pull out of _Wicked_ and hammer the last nail into the coffin of her credibility with casting directors. She told him about RENT and about Serena’s precarious financial situation and about the father she’d lost at the age of just fifteen. She talked about how strong she was, how brave, how loving and kind. She told him about how scared she had been when Adrienne’s letter arrived, how much she’d needed a friend, how Bernie had ached to be that friend. But she’d gone too far. She’d allowed her own feelings to taint the pure, uncomplicated support she should have provided. She had allowed her own weakness to destroy everything, just like on _Les Mis,_ just like with Alex.

Cameron listened to her with a neutral expression, saying nothing until he was sure every lost drop of shame and self-recrimination had poured from his sister’s mouth. “It doesn’t sound like you took advantage to me,” he said at last. “It sounds like two people who care about each other very much and who find each other very attractive took the next obvious step in their relationship.”

Bernie flushed. “You don’t understand,” she began, but Cam just snorted.

“Yes I do. I know you, Bernie. You could never take advantage of anyone. I bet she had to practically beg you to stay with her before you gave in, am I right?”

Bernie thought back to Serena’s beautiful, tear-streaked face turned up towards her, a plea on her lips. _“Don’t leave. Stay with me tonight.”_ She thought of how she’d hesitated, ready to bolt, to run, until a single word had broken down all of her defenses. _“Please.”_ Bernie’s lips stayed tightly closed, but Cam saw what he needed in her eyes.

“This isn’t about Serena at all,” he went on. “This is about you and how you never feel like you’re good enough. Whenever something wonderful happens to you, you do everything in your power to sabotage it.”

She pulled her hand from his and rolled away, suddenly feeling cornered, trapped, like there wasn’t enough air. He held her in place with a hand on her shoulder. “Wait,” he said. “Bernie…” He sighed, frowning at her rigid back. “I love you. I wish you’d let yourself be happy.”

Slowly, Bernie forced herself to relax. She laid back down, curling into his side this time, resting her head on his shoulder. “It’s not that simple,” she whispered, thinking of the joy she’d experienced in Serena’s arms, the peace of Serena’s kiss, the absolute rightness of the way her body felt pressed against hers. But underneath it all had been a dark, corrupting bud of shame, waiting to blossom forth into full life. Better to stop everything before it truly started. Better to spare Serena her baggage.

“It can be,” Cam said, reaching up to run his fingers through her hair, still damp from the shower. He was silent for a few moments, then took a breath. “Dom asked me out.”

Bernie looked up at him and smiled. “Well, that’s been on the cards for a while,” she said, earning herself a playful smack on the arm and a soft laugh.

“I walked into that,” he said, grinning, then his face sobered. “Do you...do you think I should go?”

“Of course,” she replied, frowning that it was even a question. “Why wouldn’t you?”

She felt him shrug. “I don’t know. We’re mates. He’s still getting over what happened with Isaac. It’s not been that long, in the scheme of things.”

“You’re worried that if things move too fast...you’ll ruin everything.”

Cam sighed. “Pretty much.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, closing her eyes and thinking of Serena. “I get that.” She took a deep breath. “I suppose what I think is...is what you have to gain worth the inevitable pain and suffering further down the line.”

She felt rather than heard his answering laugh. “Why did I think asking you for relationship advice was a good plan?”

She swatted at his shoulder, a grin appearing on her lips. “I’ve no idea,” she said. She tilted her head up to look into his face. “You should go. Let yourself be happy.”

His face softened, his eyes gentle with affection and sympathy. “Thanks,” he murmured and pressed a kiss onto her forehead.

* * * * *

After a night of very little sleep, Bernie finally gave it up as a bad job at about six o’clock. On an impulse, she pulled up the National Rail Enquiries website and checked some times. A couple of hours later, after forcing herself to eat something despite the rolling of her guts, she stepped onto the first train to Holby and settled down into a seat by herself.

She hadn’t been home in nearly a year and this would be her last chance for a while, with her run in _Wicked_ starting soon. While she was loath to admit her father was right about anything, what he’d said when he visited rehearsals was true. Her mother was very isolated back at home - the imaginatively named Holby House - and she would welcome a visit from her youngest child. A visit from the eldest was out of the question. When Lord Wolfe had cut all ties with Cam, their mother had been collateral damage.

Bernie stared out the window for most of the journey, watching the grey London suburbs slowly fade into the green of the open country, before the Holby suburbs began to supercede grass and trees once again. She tried to clear her mind, to just focus on the movement of the train and the rush of scenery by the window. She didn’t have a lot of success. Serena was with her every mile of the way, a free passenger in her mind.

The train rolled into the station just before ten o’clock. She thought about calling the house, seeing if one of the staff could come and pick her up, but decided in the end to get a cab. It would be nice to surprise her mother, she thought, and she still had a key to the front door so she could slip straight in. There was no chance of running into her father - he had spent every Sunday in living memory golfing and always ate at his club, not returning home until bedtime. Bernie’s only fond memories of home were of Sundays - just her and Cam and their mum together, free and uninhibited by Lord Wolfe’s lurking presence. They would often spend the whole day gathered round the piano: not playing the classical Mozart and Bach her father insisted on them practising, but show tunes from their mother’s working days. It had always felt illicit somehow, like a shining secret, just for the three of them. Perhaps it was those gentle afternoons that had led her to take up a place at RADA after her hopes of joining the army had been well and truly dashed.

“Hello!” she called as she stepped through the door, pulling her jacket off and hanging it in the cloakroom. “Mum? Anyone home?”

There was a slight delay before she got a response and then her mother emerged from the depths of the house, her face a picture of surprised joy.

“Darling!” she exclaimed, holding her arms out wide as she rushed towards her daughter.

Bernie allowed herself to be folded up in her mother’s embrace, nestling down, her face buried in her neck. She felt tears prick at her eyes, but she smiled, squeezing her mother tightly.

“Come into the drawing room, darling - I’ve got a fire going,” Jocasta said, taking Bernie by the hand and pulling her along with a gentle tug.

They settled down together on a low sofa and Bernie chatted about her work and rehearsals while her mother called for tea. Jocasta was always so hungry to hear about the theatre world. When Bernie mentioned she was working with Guy Self, Jocasta shrieked with laughter. “Good Lord! How is the pompous old braggart?”

“Uhm...pompous and braggadocious,” Bernie replied with a grin.

The tea arrived and they busied themselves for a few minutes in pouring and stirring and selecting which small cakes they’d choose from the selection that the housekeeper had brought. At last, Jocasta leaned forward, her eyes bright.

“How is he?”

Bernie smiled. They weren't talking about Guy Self anymore. “He’s fine. Really good, actually. He’s got a job on the production now, and it seems like romance is in the air.”

Jocasta’s eyes sparkled. “How wonderful! So you get to see him at work every day? Does he still live with you?”

Bernie nodded. “Yes. Luckily father has never taken much of an interest in visiting me at home. Although, I doubt he’d recognise him now.”

“I doubt I would either,” Jocasta replied, sadness creeping into her tone. “Do you...I mean, can I…”

Bernie pulled out her phone and went into her Camera Roll. She scrolled up for a second, looking for a series of pictures she’d taken of Cameron a few weeks before, when he’d been wandering round the house shirtless and pretending to show off his largely non-existent muscles. She handed the phone to her mother who gripped it tightly in her hands, drinking in the image on the screen like a woman dying of thirst who had been shown an oasis just out of reach.

“He looks so handsome,” she murmured, zooming in on his face. “And so happy.”

“He is,” Bernie said. “He’s so much happier now. Still the same old Cam in almost every way, just...content. Happy in his own skin, at last.”

Jocasta nodded as she swiped through the photos. “He’s so brave,” she said. “My beautiful brave boy.” Her eyes flicked to Bernie, dark and ashamed. “Nothing like his mother.”

Bernie reached out and rested her hand on her mother’s knee. “Don’t say that. It’s complicated. I understand.”

“You shouldn’t have to understand. A mother’s job is to love and protect her children.”

It was an old conversation, circular, with no end. Bernie sighed. “It’s a father’s job too. Save your scorn for him, mother. Cam and I don’t blame you for anything.”

Jocasta sniffed, her eyes a little wet. Silently she continued to flick through the photos until she reached the end of the set with Cam in them. She continued looking through the pictures, hoping to find more featuring her son, but every picture she saw seemed to contain just one subject: a pretty brunette in her late twenties or early thirties.

“You have a lot of pictures of this girl,” Jocasta remarked, holding up a particularly nice one of the brunette laughing in profile, her eyes dancing with mirth.

Bernie flushed. “Serena,” she breathed, then jumped as the phone vibrated and a text notification appeared at the top of the screen. _Speak of the devil…_ she thought.

She took the phone back and pulled up her messages. Serena hadn’t texted at all the day before - a first for them, since they’d become friends - but it seemed the radio silence was to be short-lived.

_Your friend Rachel called me,_ the message read. _She’s lodging the appeal first thing on Monday. She says they have to keep paying mum’s benefits until the appeal is heard, so panic over for now. Thank-you._

Bernie looked up at her mother. “Sorry,” she said. “I just have to reply to this.”

“Is it that boyfriend of yours?” Jocasta asked, taking a sip of her tea.

Bernie’s flush deepened. “Marcus? Uhm, no. Uh, we split up.” She frowned at the phone screen, tapping out her reply. _You’re very welcome. I hope you know that nothing has changed. I still have your back. I want to help you, in any way I can, any time you need. You have only to ask._ She hesitated, then impulsively dropped a small _x_ on the end of the text before hitting send.

“Oh?” Jocasta said. “That’s a shame. I thought you liked him.”

“Oh, well…” Bernie looked away and began fiddling with the seam on her jeans. A thought popped into her head, and before she knew it she was speaking. “Mum...can I tell you something?”

Jocasta put down her teacup. “Of course, darling.”

Bernie’s head felt like it was full of angry bees. She was glad she was sitting down because she felt suddenly weak. She hadn’t planned on doing this, not consciously anyway. But the words were inside her, clamouring to get out.

“Well,” she began. “The thing is, Marcus and I…” She looked up, meeting her mother’s soft eyes. “We split up because of me. Because I like girls. I’m...I’m gay.”

For a moment there was silence, not long enough to mean anything other than mild surprise, but long enough for Bernie’s heart to freeze in fear and panic. Then her mother was drawing her into a tight embrace, stroking her hair and kissing her cheek like she’d always done when she was a child and needed comfort.

“Oh, darling,” Jocasta said. “Thank-you for telling me. I love you so much.”

And suddenly Bernie felt different. Lighter somehow, freer, like she’d spent her whole life with a rubber band round her chest and someone had just cut it off. She felt like she could breathe properly for the first time. Giddy laughter bubbled up in her chest.

“I love you too, mummy,” she murmured and Jocasta held her even more tightly, stroking her hair and her back and her shoulders.

“So, this girl,” Jocasta said when Bernie pulled back, long moments later. “The pretty brunette. Is she your girlfriend?”

Bernie’s eyes darkened and she looked away. The phone buzzed again and she grabbed it, swiping into the message to delay having to answer the question.

_I know, Bernie. Thank-you. Listen, Marjorie and Jason are coming round in a bit for Sunday lunch. You’re welcome to join us. I know Jason would love to see you. x_

Bernie winced. _Sorry,_ she replied. _I would love to, honestly, but I’m not in London. I got the first train to Holby this morning. x_

The reply came quickly. _Right._

Bernie swore under her breath. Serena obviously didn’t believe her. Did she think Bernie was lying just to avoid seeing her? “Do you mind if we take a quick selfie?” she asked, looking up at her mother. Jocasta frowned in mild confusion, but allowed it, scooting close to her daughter and smiling on cue when Bernie held the phone up in front of them.

Bernie sent Serena the picture and another text. _Popped up to see my mum. It’s my last chance before our run starts. I just came out. As you can tell by the smiling faces, it went amazingly well. x_

There was no immediate reply. Biting back her disappointment, Bernie placed the phone down on the table and grabbed her teacup instead. “That was Serena,” she said, wincing as she sipped her drink. It had gone cold.

“Serena…” Jocasta replied. “The girl in the pictures?”

Bernie nodded. “She’s my co-star. She’s playing Elphaba. And she’s my best friend too, other than Cam.”

Jocasta nodded, watching her daughter’s face, the slight sadness in her eyes. “But you’d like to be more than that, yes?”

Bernie looked away, her cheeks flushing pink. “Maybe,” she said, then grimaced. “Yes. But…” She looked up. “I can’t, can I? Father would-”

“To hell with your father,” Jocasta said, a note of fire in her voice.

Bernie blinked, taken aback. “What?”

Jocasta reached out and grabbed her hand. “It’s your life,” she said urgently. “Don’t let fear of him stand in the way of you being happy. He can’t hurt you now, darling.”

Bernie’s mouth opened and closed twice before her attention was diverted by the buzzing of her phone. She reached for it, grateful for the moment’s reprieve. It was a reply from Serena.

_Bernie, that is amazing. I am so, so proud of you. Well done! I can’t wait to see you tomorrow so you can tell me all about it. xxx_

Warmth flooded her chest and she smiled. Within moments, however, the smile faded. “He can, though,” she said, looking up from the phone. “He can do what he did to Cam. He can stop me seeing you.”

Jocasta’s face paled. “Oh, darling,” she murmured, her eyes filling with tears. “Don’t turn away from what makes you happy for _me._ I’ve made my choices. It’s for me to live with the consequences, not you.”

“You could leave him,” Bernie said impulsively, then snapped her mouth shut. This was another well-worn path, a circular conversation, endless, pointless. Jocasta flinched like she’d been struck, and Bernie ached to have caused that pain. “Sorry. Forget I said anything.”

They sat together in silence for a few minutes, both lost in their thoughts. Bernie was, unsurprisingly, preoccupied with thoughts of Serena. Even if they could have a relationship, would Bernie even be able to sustain it? She hadn’t exactly been exposed to a model of a healthy romance growing up. Love and fear were intertwined for her; they always had been. She didn’t think she’d know what to do with the real thing, honest and kind and true. Perhaps she never would.

“Shall we play something together?” Jocasta asked, breaking the silence and nodding to the piano.

Bernie took a deep breath, putting her thoughts of Serena deliberately to one side. “All right,” she said. “How about we play something from my new show?”

Jocasta smiled tremulously. “I’d like that, darling,” she said.

Bernie rose from the couch, following Jocasta to the piano, happy enough to be spending one more lazy Sunday afternoon playing and singing with her mother. And if she wished for more - for Cam to be with them, for Serena to be waiting at home - well, that was only to be expected. One couldn’t have everything one wanted, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The famous Jocasta Dunn enters the fray at last. I imagine her looking like Vanessa Redgrave in the mid-90s.


	16. When You're Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cameron and Dom go on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: some mild discussion of domestic abuse.

_ We deserve each other, _  
_ Don’t you see this is our chance? _

The music in the club was thumping with a heavy bass line that seemed to thrum to the rhythm of the many dancers’ undulating bodies. The place was packed - way more than Dom had expected for a weeknight. He was beginning to regret his choice of venue. Would they even be able to hear each other in this din?

He glanced worriedly at Cam who was following just behind him. He had said he hadn’t been to this particular club - Albie’s - before. Dom had chosen it largely because he’d never been there with Isaac. Unfortunately, Isaac’s presence had corrupted most of his usual haunts. This particular club would ordinarily have been near the bottom of his list - a bit too much of a meat market for what he desperately hoped would be the first date of many.

“Sorry,” he yelled, straining to be heard over the noise. “Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.”

Cam shook his head, smiling. “Do you want a drink?” he shouted near Dom’s ear.

Dom nodded. “Uhm...yeah. Get me a G&T?”

Cam smirked and gestured to himself. “Done,” he said, then winced when Dom frowned in confusion. “I mean...you know...gay and trans.” His cheeks burned a little, though he hoped the blush would be hidden by a combination of his fashionable stubble and the dim light of the club. “Sorry, bad joke.”

Dom laughed. “No! It was good. See, I’m laughing.” He mimed a belly laugh and Cam felt himself relax. The situation was slightly awkward, true, but it was still the same old Dom, still the kind and loyal friend he’d been getting to know for the last month. 

They got their drinks at the bar and set about trying to find a quiet corner to hole up in. It was a difficult task - the thumping of the music seemed to be everywhere - but eventually they found a magic spot that was furthest from the speakers where they could be heard without screaming at the top of their lungs. They stood sipping their drinks and leaning against a chest-high table. 

“How are rehearsals going?” Cam asked after a moment or two of slightly awkward silence. His job as a production assistant sometimes called for him to watch a rehearsal, but he was behind the scenes more often than not, mostly gophering for more important people. He hadn’t seen a rehearsal since the cast had transferred to the Apollo for full run-throughs two days previously. On Thursday the stand-ins were due to have their full dress rehearsal so the principals would have the day off - hence, Wednesday night had been chosen for this date.

Dom shrugged. “Decent,” he said, then winced. “A little worse than last week, if I’m honest. Probably something to do with the whole sapphic angst fest thing.”

“It’s awkward then?”

Dom laughed. “You have a gift for understatement, my good man.”

In truth, awkward didn’t begin to describe it. On Monday Bernie and Serena had arrived at the theatre separately to be greeted with the news that they had to share a dressing room. Apparently the previous Elphaba had had a birthday party in her dressing room after the Saturday night show. Some wag had thought it would be hilarious to completely cover the cake in candles, which had led to a cake that was more fireball than fondant. The resultant deployment of the sprinkler system had completely ruined the carpets, all the soft furnishings and two stud walls. Work was underway to repair the damage, but Bernie and Serena would have to share until at least their opening night.

The two of them had reacted to this news in ever-so-slightly different ways. Serena had first gone pale and then flushed a deep red before developing an intense interest in the floor. Bernie, on the other hand, had immediately become angry - ranting to anyone who would listen that it was ridiculous, that they were the stars of the show, that it was beyond belief that the production couldn’t manage a dressing room each.

“And then Serena said something like, ‘are you worried I won’t keep my hands to myself?’ and Bernie clammed right up,” Dom said. “They’ve been in a sort of...holding pattern since then. It’s all a bit…”

“Tragic?” Cam suggested. 

Dom nodded. “Yeah. I’ve known Serena a long time and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so torn up about someone.”

“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean,” Cam agreed, remembering Bernie’s very, very few prior clandestine relationships with women. Alex had been the closest to love, he thought, and Bernie had recovered from the end of that affair with relatively little trauma.  _ Because she met Serena,  _ he thought with sudden clarity. Of course. He supposed the deficiencies of her relationship with Alex would have been thrown into sharp relief after she was confronted with the real thing.

“Are they…” Dom began, gesturing ineffectually in front of him.

“In love?” Cam offered. “Yes, I think so.”

Dom rolled his eyes. “And they’re not doing anything about it for some reason. Well, I suppose it’s up to us to play Cupid.”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Cam pulled a face. “Aren’t we just as likely to make it worse? Striving to better, oft we mar what’s well, and all that.”

“Oh God, don’t quote Shakespeare at me, I had enough of that in my A Levels.”

Cameron smirked. “And yet you’re a professional thespian?”

“Musical theatre is not Shakespeare, Cam,” Dom said, grinning. “And enough about thespians - back to the lesbians.”

A gentle laugh bubbled up in Cam’s chest. “You’re pretty cute, you know that?”

“Am I?” Dom pursed his lips, cheeks flushing a little in pleasure. “Well-”

Whatever he’d been planning to say abruptly fled his mind as Cam leaned forward and captured his lips in a gentle kiss. Suddenly Bernie and Serena’s floundering relationship didn’t seem that important anymore. He smiled against Cam’s lips, then brought his hands up to cup his face, feeling the rough edge of stubble rasp against his palms.

“Well,” said a mocking voice. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

They sprang apart, each gasping a little for breath, both frantically searching for the source of the voice. Dom found it first and his face paled. He took a step back, but soon found himself hitting the wall.

“Isaac,” he breathed.

It was him indeed, in the flesh, all chiseled jaw and cropped dark hair peppered with grey, abs and pecs straining in a tight black t-shirt. He was smirking, the muscles of his arms flexing as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

Cam rounded on him, his eyes wide. Instinctively he stepped between him and Dom, shielding his date from the other man’s sight. “I think you’d better walk away, right now,” he said, his voice low and serious.

Isaac smirked. “Do you? I don’t think I will. You’ve got something that belongs to me.”

Cameron shook his head. “Nothing and no-one here belongs to you.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,” Isaac said, his eyes flashing. He took a step forward, invading Cam’s personal space. To his mild surprise, Cameron didn’t back off. Instead he seemed to raise himself up an extra inch or so. His eyes were calm, his jaw set.

“Leave,” he said. “Now.”

For a second Isaac seemed to falter, but then his face darkened. “Dom,” he called over Cam’s shoulder. “I just want to talk to you. I’ve been so worried about you. You just disappeared without a trace! I nearly called the police.”

Cam snorted. “No you didn’t. You wouldn’t want the police anywhere near him, in case he told them what you’d been doing to him.”

Isaac affected an aura of innocence. “Oh? And what’s that?”

A derisive snort was the response. “I’ve seen the bruises. Some of them have only just faded. I know what you did. I know what you are.”

“Cam, let’s just go,” a small voice murmured from behind him. 

Cam turned his head to the side, keeping Isaac in his peripheral vision. “He should be the one to go,” he began, but Dom silenced him with a hand on his wrist.

“Please?” he said, gripping Cam’s wrist almost painfully tightly. “I want to go.”

For a moment Cam said nothing, his jaw clenching and unclenching rhythmically, a vein popping on his temple. Then he relented, shrugging his shoulders and opening his palm for Dom to slide his hand into. “Okay,” he said, just loud enough to be heard over the thud of the music. “Whatever you want.”

They left the remains of their drinks on the table and began to head towards the door. The throng of people in the club seemed to get in their way at every turn, but finally they emerged onto the street, the air feeling practically frigid after the heat of all those bodies pressed together inside the club. Dom shivered and Cam instinctively slipped an arm round his shoulders.

“How touching,” Isaac sneered. He had followed them from the club, determined not to let Dom out of his sight.

Cam felt Dom’s back go rigid under his hand. Slowly, he turned round to face Isaac, his eyes dark and furious.

“Go back inside,” he growled. “Right now.”

Isaac let out a derisive snort. “Or what?” He looked Cam up and down, taking in his skinny waist, his thin limbs, his obvious lack of muscles. “I don’t think I have much to be concerned about if it comes to a fight.”

Dom flinched, but Cameron just pulled him closer, pressing their sides together. “Oh, I wouldn’t fight you,” he said. “We don’t all feel the need to shore up our masculinity by inflicting or enduring violence.”

Isaac’s face darkened. “You little shit,” he grunted and leapt forward, already anticipating the crunch of his fist against the bones of Cameron’s nose. But suddenly Cam wasn’t there and Isaac found himself falling forward into empty space.

“Missed me,” Cam said, stepping neatly away at the last second and allowing Isaac’s momentum to make him stumble. Isaac grunted in annoyance and righted himself, pulling back his fist to try again. This time Cam placed his hand on his shoulder, the other falling to his waist. His touch was light, yet somehow Isaac found himself twisted round, his punch sailing ineffectually past Cam’s left ear. “Missed me again,” Cam said, smirking now.

“What the-” Isaac exclaimed, then settled his stance in preparation for having one more go. As soon as he let his punch fly Cameron ducked, letting Isaac’s momentum propel him forward and rolling his shoulder under the larger man. Somehow - before Isaac had even registered what had happened - he found himself on his back on the pavement, staring up at the night sky and the streetlights and the neon of the club sign, his head stinging from where he’d cracked it against unyielding concrete. Cameron loomed above him.

“I came out tonight to dance,” he said. “But not with you. So do yourself a favour and don’t get up.”

Isaac blinked rapidly then let out a pained groan. The fight had gone out of him. Cameron grabbed Dom’s hand, feeling the tremble in his date’s fingers, the moisture on his palm. He squeezed his hand, trying to impart his own calm and steadiness through the contact.

“Let’s go,” Dom murmured, and it seemed that Cameron’s actions had actually calmed him somewhat, because his voice was steady.

They walked away together, hand in hand, and didn't speak for several minutes while they put some distance between themselves and the street outside Albie’s. Dom kept looking over his shoulder, anxious to ensure they weren’t being pursued. 

“Come on, let’s go in here,” said Cam, leading Dom towards an all-night cafe. The window was bright and welcoming and they could see a smattering of customers dotted around the inside of the place, lingering over steaming mugs. Cam sat his date down on a squashy leather sofa and went up to order them both drinks. When he came back he was carrying two large mugs of tea, dosed liberally with sugar, and a large slice of chocolate cake on a plate with two forks.

Dom smiled tremulously. “Thanks,” he said. “Some date this has turned out to be.”

“It’s looking up,” Cam replied, smiling gently. “You’re here, I’m here. What more do we need?”

Dom took a sip of his tea, feeling the warmth flow through him, calming him. “That was amazing, what you did back there,” he said. “You were like Spiderman or a Jedi or something.”

Cameron laughed, full and throaty. “Hardly. Those were just some basic self-defence tricks. Bernie and I took classes together when we first moved to London. It’s all about using the attacker’s strength against them.” He glanced at Dom through his eyelashes. “I could teach you, if you like.”

A slow smile spread across Dom’s face. “Really? You’d do that for me?”

Cam nodded. “Of course. I can’t be with you all the time, after all.”

The smile faded from Dom’s face. “I’ve been so afraid,” he admitted quietly. “Every time I’m out on my own I’m watching my back. I keep thinking he’s right behind me. All the time.”

Cam nodded soberly. “I know. Believe me, I know how you feel.”

Silence spread between them, broken only by the sipping of tea and the clinking of forks on crockery. “What you said before, about masculinity not being the need to inflict or endure violence,” Dom said at last. “Bernie said something similar to me once.”

“The one lesson our father taught us,” Cam said. “If he believed something, we knew the opposite was true.” He took a deep breath, seeming to steel himself. “I always knew I was different. I didn’t have the words to put a name to it for years and years, but father saw it. I never understood what it was about me that infuriated him so much.”

“You don’t have to-” Dom began, but Cameron silenced him with a quick shake of his head.

“It’s okay, I want to,” he said, then took another deep breath. “He used to take me into his study almost every night, when we weren’t away at school. He’d criticize my clothes, my hair, the people I hung around with. And then he’d break out the cane. His catchphrase was: ‘if you want to act like a man, you can take it like a man.’ For him, it was all about control and pain. But that’s not what being a man is all about. At least, that’s not the kind of man I ever want to be.”

“I think you’re the best man I’ve ever met,” Dom blurted, then looked away, flushing a deep red. “Did I just say that out loud?”

Cameron grinned. “Yeah, ‘fraid so.” He leaned forward, allowing his hand to drift onto Dom’s thigh. “I’m quite taken with you too, Dominic Copeland.”

“I was christened Darren,” Dom said in a rush. “And I was born in Slough.”

Cam laughed, short and sharp, a little bemused. “Okay.”

“Just wanted you to know the worst from the get go,” Dom muttered. He leaned forward too, meeting Cam halfway.

Cameron’s expression softened. His eyes raked over Dom’s face, as if he was trying to memorise his features, or perhaps just this moment. “Well, if that’s the worst then I think we’ll do just fine.”

Dominic was still smiling when Cam kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to the sapphic angst fest proper in the next chapter!


	17. Wishing Only Wounds the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The situation between Bernie and Serena begins to affect the show.

_Don't dream too far_  
_Don't lose sight of who you are_  
_Don’t remember that rush of joy_

Bernie spent her day off cleaning her flat and trying to avoid Dominic’s broad hints that Serena would probably welcome some company. “Serena will be taking advantage of Carol being there to catch up on some sleep,” she said. “Now make yourself useful and grab a cloth.”

By the time Cameron returned from work, the flat was gleaming. He stood in the doorway to the living room, blinking slowly. “Right…” he said slowly. “Well, this is interesting.”

Dom looked up. “Oh, thank God. She’s had me polishing skirting boards since three o’clock.”

Cam smiled as he crossed the room and leaned down. “And a fine job you’ve done too,” he murmured before pressing a quick kiss to Dom’s lips. “Where is she?”

“In her room, I think,” Dom said. “Probably resuming hostilities with dust or engaging in guerrilla warfare against grime. She’s been absolutely potty today.”

“Hmmm,” Cam murmured, frowning. “Back in a bit.”

He descended the stairs leading to the main bedrooms slowly, a little trepidatious about what he’d find. Housekeeping was most definitely not his sister’s specialty, in the general scheme of things. The last time Bernie had gone on a cleaning blitz like this was when she’d graduated from RADA, leaving behind a six month relationship with a very nice contralto called Caroline who’d just invited her to meet her parents.

For Bernie, cleaning was a form of strategic retreat. When she couldn’t run away physically, she cleaned.

“Hi,” Cam said, loitering in Bernie’s bedroom doorway. She was on her hands and knees scrubbing the polished floor. Her arms and shoulders were covered in a light sheen of sweat, evidence of her day-long exertions.

“Oh, you’re back already?” she said, leaning back on her haunches and flicking her fringe out of her eyes.

“It’s six thirty, same time as every night.” He entered the room and sat on the edge of the bed, regarding his sister steadily. “Anything you’d like to share, sister dear?”

“Not a thing, brother dear.”

He raised an eyebrow and stared at her until she had to look away. She pulled herself up to her feet and stretched, feeling the bones of her spine crack, then flopped down next to him with a sigh.

“Seeing her every day...working so closely with her. It’s hard,” she admitted. She was staring at the floor, scuffing the boards with the ball of one foot.

“Mmm,” Cam hummed, sliding his arm round her shoulders. He was quiet for a moment, letting Bernie relax against him. Finally he took a breath. “I remember when you and I were little,” he began, “mum told us this story about...the girl who swallowed a peach stone, or something.”

Bernie smiled, remembering. “She...she stole the peach,” she said, leaning her head against Cam’s shoulder. “She stole the peach and she ate it so quickly she swallowed the peach stone. When she was asked about it the next day, d’you remember, she...she opened her mouth to lie-”

“And out grew a peach tree.”

They sat together in silence for a moment, remembering their mum and their quiet Sundays together singing and telling stories.

“Moral of the story: don’t eat peach stones,” Bernie said at last, attempting a careless laugh and failing miserably.

Cam shook his head gently. “Moral of the story...don’t bury things. It all comes out eventually.”

Bernie drew in a sharp breath. “Interesting choice of words. ‘Comes out.’”

“Ah.” He rubbed his hand up and down her upper arm. “Would it really be so bad?”

She snorted mirthlessly. “What, to be free? No, it wouldn’t be bad at all,” she said.

“So what’s stopping you?” He turned, bringing his other hand up to hold her by the shoulders. “What are you losing? And what do you have to gain?”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand-” she began, but he cut her off with a strangled laugh.

 _“I_ don’t understand?” he scoffed. “Who could possibly understand better than me?”

She shrugged his hands away, stood up and began to pace. “You don’t get it,” she insisted. “If I do that, he cuts me off. He cuts me off, he stops me seeing her. He stops me seeing her, she’s all alone.”

Cam blanched. “Mum wouldn’t want you to sacrifice your happiness for-”

“I know,” Bernie broke in. “But it’s hard, nonetheless, _knowing_ what your choice means. You didn’t, not really. You thought you’d just be free of him at last. Somehow, even after everything, we didn’t believe he’d be so...so _cruel,_ to keep a mother from her child.” She swiped at her eyes with her hand and sniffed. “I wish he was dead,” she said, then paled. “That’s an awful thing to say…”

Cam shrugged. “Don’t expect censure from me, Bernie. I’ve been wishing he was dead for most of my life. If wishing could kill a man, he’d have had a dozen fatal heart attacks by now.”

Bernie tried a smile, but it came out as a grimace. “He’d need to _have_ a heart first.”

Cam grinned. “There’s my girl.” He opened his arms and she sat back down, sinking gratefully into them, resting her head against his chest. They were silent for a moment, just breathing together. “So,” Cam said at last. “You know what the cost would be. Your eyes are open. Here’s my question. Is Serena worth it?”

Bernie nestled a little more snugly into his chest, feeling his hands stroking her hair in a gentle, soothing rhythm. She didn’t speak aloud, but her heart answered the question with every beat: _yes, yes, yes._ Bernie knew, with a certainty born of love, that Serena was worth it. Serena was worth anything. She was worth more than Bernie, that was for sure.

“I’d best get back to it,” she muttered. “The bathroom won’t clean itself.”

She pulled away from him with a tiny smile that didn’t reach her eyes and returned to her cleaning.

* * * * *

Two full dress rehearsals were scheduled on Friday: one in the morning and the second after lunch. A restaurant had been booked for the whole of Saturday for the full cast - incoming and outgoing - to get together before the new cast’s opening performance. The usual Saturday matinee was never performed on cast change days, so the Friday evening show would be the old cast’s last performance. The new performers all had complimentary tickets to the show, but Bernie hadn’t decided if she would go yet. She knew Serena had managed to get Marjorie to rejig her shifts so she could be there. Bernie didn’t want to make her uncomfortable by forcing her company on her. They’d successfully been managing the trick of avoiding each other outside of work contexts all week. That would have been difficult enough in normal circumstances; the effort involved was almost superhuman now they were sharing a dressing room.

“Morning,” Serena said with a tight little smile, hanging up her bag and coat on the back of the dressing room door.

“Hi.” Bernie smiled in return, the same small, meaningless smile that was all she’d been able to manage since the news that she’d be cooped up in this room with Serena all week, unable to get any respite from the sight of her, the scent of her, the memory of their night together.

They busied themselves with pointless tasks for a few minutes, killing time until they were called to get into their costumes. They weren’t bothering with the full green makeup for Serena for the morning dress, but she’d need to sit for it in the afternoon. It meant a slightly curtailed lunch hour for her, but she didn’t mind. It would get her away from the stilted atmosphere of the dressing room. Dom and Cam had been doing their best all week to lighten the mood between them, without much success.

“Bernie…” Serena said, then stopped, as if her own voice had surprised her. Bernie flinched.

“Yes?” Her voice was thin and reedy.

Serena chewed her lower lip. “Nothing,” she said at last.

Bernie turned to face Serena, her mouth open as if she was going to say something, but no words came out. It was like there was something stuck in her throat. A peach stone, perhaps. The moment hung there, still and suspended in time, like a bauble on a Christmas tree.

A sharp knocking at the door made them turn away from each other and the tension broke. “The costume department wants you,” Cameron called through the door.

Serena coughed slightly to clear her throat. “Coming,” she called, then blushed furiously. “I mean...we’ll be right there.”

She heard a cackle from the other side of the door that she immediately recognised as Dom. Embarrassment made anger flare and she stalked to the door, throwing it open with unnecessary force. “I swear, I will swing for you Dominic Copeland!”

His laughter stopped immediately, the blood draining from his face. In an instant Serena’s anger died, an expression of slowly dawning horror creeping over her features as she realised what she’d said. “Oh, God...I’m sorry Dom, please-” She reached out for him but he flinched away, jerking his shoulder out of her reach. Her face crumpled, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as he turned and walked off, without sparing her a second glance.

“It’s all right,” Cam said gently, running his hand down Serena’s arm. “I’ll go after him. You get to wardrobe.”

Bernie had walked up behind her while Cam was talking. She met his eyes and nodded silently, communicating without words that she would stay with Serena and make sure she was okay. He nodded back and left, trailing after his boyfriend who’d taken off in the direction of his own dressing room.

“Are you all right?” Bernie said softly, raising her hand to touch Serena’s shoulder. She let it hang there a few centimetres above her skin for a long moment, but eventually allowed it to come down, her fingers curling instinctively around the curve of Serena’s shoulder and squeezing gently.

Serena gasped. It was the first time Bernie had touched her, except when they were in character, since the night they’d made love. She’d tried to think of it as nothing but sex, tried desperately to place their actions that night and her feelings for her friend in different mental columns. But, try as she might, she couldn’t conceptualise what they’d done as anything other than lovemaking. Her eyes fluttered closed and she brought her hand up to clasp it over Bernie’s briefly before letting go. “I’m fine,” she said softly, then took a deep breath. “Must get on.”

* * * * *

It was the worst rehearsal in months. Barely a thing went right over the whole two and a half hours. Lines that were meant to be funny fell flat, songs that were meant to be dramatic were weak and wishy-washy, dances that were meant to be seamless and effortless were leaden. By the end everyone’s spirits were low and Hanssen was as close to furious as anyone had ever seen him.

“Ms Campbell, Ms Wolfe!” he snapped. “Your dressing room, if you please.” The two of them followed him sheepishly, their eyes anywhere but on each other. He spun round. “After you’ve changed.”

Twin blushes erupted on their cheeks. Obviously he didn’t want to read them the riot act while they were still dressed as Elphaba and Glinda.

Ten minutes later, they were loitering at the door of the dressing room. “Should we...should we knock?” Bernie murmured, then managed a smile. “It rather feels like waiting outside the headmaster’s office for a caning, doesn’t it?”

Serena raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, have we gone through a time warp to the 1950s?”

Bernie laughed. “I fear I read rather a lot of old novels about boarding schools in my misspent youth.”

A slow smile spread across Serena’s lips. “So, I was right all those moons ago,” she said, then leaned forward conspiratorially. “Malory Towers.” Bernie laughed again and Serena’s smile turned sad. “I’ve missed laughing with you,” she murmured.

Bernie was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “Me too,” she said softly. For an instant they just stared at each other, saying nothing, lost in each other’s eyes. Then Bernie turned to the door. “Shall we?”

Hanssen was waiting for them inside the dressing room, looming by the mirror like some kind of furious, besuited stick insect. “I know what you’re going to say-” Serena began, but Hanssen cut her off.

“Oh do you, Ms Campbell? Do you indeed? Because I’m bound to say that if we weren’t a day away from our first performance I would be deputising Ms Naylor to play your role.”

Serena blanched and Bernie couldn’t stop herself from stepping in. “Steady on,” she said. “That’s a bit harsh.”

He rounded on her. “And Ms March would be playing yours!” He drew himself up to his full, considerable height. “I don’t know what has happened between you in the last week to cause this calamitous regression,” he said. “But I suggest you resolve it post haste.” He stalked to the door. “May I remind you that you are professionals?”

With that parting shot, he was gone.

Serena turned away from Bernie, her face burning with shame. Bernie floundered, unsure what she should do. Should she comfort her or give her space? Speak or stay silent?

“I can’t believe I’m messing everything up,” Serena whispered. Bernie could hear tears in her voice.

Decision made.

“You aren’t,” she said. She crossed to Serena in two strides, placed her hands on her shoulders and turned her around. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault, darling.” With a gentle tug, she pulled Serena into her arms. Serena collapsed into them willingly, taking deep, gasping breaths against her neck. Bernie patted her back, her heart aching with love and longing, whispering quiet words of comfort until Serena began to calm down.

“Sorry,” Serena muttered eventually.

Bernie shook her head. “No. Don’t be sorry, Serena. You’ve nothing at all to be sorry for.”

Serena pulled back, looking up into Bernie’s face, her eyes searching. Bernie held herself very still, reminding herself sharply that this was Serena, her friend, nothing more than her friend.  Her heart was beating so hard that she could hear nothing but the blood rushing in her ears. Nothing, that is, until there was the click of a key turning in the lock.

Their heads whipped round in concert. “What the…” Serena began, springing from Bernie’s arms and rushing to the door. She rattled the doorknob, cursing when it remained closed fast.

“You can come out in twenty minutes,” Dom shouted from the other side.

“Use the time to talk,” Cam chipped in.

Bernie’s eyes widened in panic. “Oh of all the stupid, immature…” she grumbled, crossing to the door beside Serena and hammering her fist on the wood. “Cameron Anthony Dunn, open the door this instant!”

“Shan’t!” His voice sounded far away and was followed by a giggle that could only be Dom.

“Dominic!” Serena called.

“Sorry pussycat,” he yelled back. “I love you et cetera et cetera, but all this nonsense is hurting the show.”

Bernie pushed away from the door and began pacing the room like a caged animal. Serena leaned her forehead against the wood.

“I’ll kill him,” Bernie was muttering. “I’ll...I’ll…”

“Swing for him?” Serena offered. Bernie clammed up immediately, flushing hot.

Serena turned to her, a small smile on her lips. “We’re stuck here, might as well laugh about it,” she said. When Bernie somehow managed to blush even redder, Serena rolled her eyes. “So…” she began. “Shall we talk?”

Bernie frowned, shaking her head. “I, uh...” she stammered, looking at the floor, her feet, the walls; anywhere but Serena's eyes. “I’m not sure what to say,” she admitted at last.

Serena stared at her, then nodded. “No,” she breathed. “Me neither.”

Without another word, Serena stepped forward, took Bernie’s face between her palms and kissed her, her lips warm and soft and wonderful.

Bernie’s eyes widened in surprise, but before she could really react to what was happening it was over. Serena pulled back, nodding, as if she’d just confirmed some hypothesis. “There,” she said. “I think that was the elephant in the room.”


	18. Happy is What Happens When All Your Dreams Come True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cast of _Wicked_ pull out all the stops for their final rehearsal.

_There’s a kind of a sort of...cost_  
_There’s a couple of things get...lost_  
_There are bridges you cross_  
_You didn't know you crossed_  
_Until you've crossed_

“Right,” Serena continued, when Bernie had allowed the silence to last for one long, interminable moment. “So. This is how I see it. We fancy each other, yes?”

Bernie’s eyes widened. “Uhm…” she began, but Serena cut her off.

“So I think we should just admit to that,” she said. “Perhaps then I can stop wishing myself dead long enough to act professionally.”

Bernie’s face grew pale. “Wishing...wishing yourself dead?” she choked out, and Serena’s face fell.

“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” she said fretfully as she finally pulled her hands away from Bernie’s face. She turned away and began to pace, wringing her fingers together. “This isn’t easy for me.”

There was something very strange going on inside Bernie’s body. Certain parts of her - her heart, her lungs - seemed to be in overdrive while other parts - her brain, her legs - had nearly shut down completely. “Serena,” she tried, but the other woman was in full flow.

“I do realise that what happened last week was my fault,” she was saying, looking anywhere but at Bernie. “I thought at first that I’d just used you in a quite indefensible way, but...well, this last week has suggested that…” She coughed to clear her throat and finally met Bernie’s eyes. “There’s this awful tension between us,” she said at last. “I can’t bear it. I miss my friend.”

Bernie blinked hard, then again. “Me too,” she said, her voice very small and soft.

Serena felt her heart melt.

“Can’t we find a way back?” she said desperately. “For the good of the show, if nothing else. There doesn’t have to be anything….anything more between us, it’s clear that’s not what you want, but…” She trailed off, gazing at Bernie pleadingly.

Bernie’s legs finally consented to work. She was in front of Serena in an instant, resting her hands on her shoulders. “So, acknowledge it you say,” she murmured. Serena nodded, and Bernie lifted one slightly trembling hand and brushed her knuckles over Serena’s cheek. “All right. Yes. I think you’re beautiful. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I’ve always thought so, since the moment we met.”

Serena leaned into her hand, her eyes fluttering closed. “I think you’re magnificent,” she breathed. They stood together for a long moment, breathing the same air, then Serena opened her eyes. “So,” she said. “What now?”

Bernie opened her mouth, then closed it. She shrugged, a pained smile appearing on her lips. “What would make you feel better?”

A thousand replies occured to Serena in an instant: some flirty, some heartfelt, some positively X-rated. In the end she settled for a compromise: something true, if not everything she really wished to say. “I don’t want to forget about what happened between us,” she said quietly. “But I do want us to be real friends again. I don’t want to always be worrying about what’s all right to say. I want to be able to touch you without you flinching.” Bernie turned her head away, breaking eye contact, her cheeks flushing. Serena gently turned her face back round. “And I want to be able to say what I’m feeling without you looking away.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “Am I asking too much?”

Bernie took a deep breath, then shook her head. “No,” she said. “No, you aren’t.” She raised her eyes to the ceiling. “In the spirit of honesty,” she began haltingly. “Uhm...the thing is...well…”

“It’s all right,” Serena urged gently. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I promise.”

Bernie shook her head. “I don’t want you to think I did this out of anything but...but concern. Because I care. For you and your mum.”

Serena blinked, nonplussed. “For mum?” She frowned. “Bernie, what are you talking about?”

Bernie’s stomach twisted sickeningly. “It’s, uh...Rachel,” she said haltingly. “Her fee.” With an effort of will, she met Serena’s eyes. “I’m paying it.”

For a moment Serena wasn’t sure how to respond. “She said she was taking the case pro bono,” she finally managed, then rolled her eyes at how stupid she sounded. “Because you told her to. Of course.”

Bernie winced. “I just wanted to help,” she said. “I’m sorry. You were so...so distraught, I-” She stopped, swallowing hard. “Please don’t hate me.”

Serena’s eyes snapped up. “Hate you?” she said. “Why would I hate you?”

Bernie shrugged helplessly. “You wouldn’t even take a scarf from me, once upon a time.”

A humourless laugh escaped from Serena’s lips. “I’ve taken more from you than a scarf, I think. More than…” She trailed off, biting her bottom lip. “More than you wanted to give, perhaps.”

“No,” Bernie replied insistently. “No, Serena.” She stared intently into Serena’s eyes, trying to impress her sincerity on her, and perhaps she succeeded because Serena managed a small smile.

“Right," she said, exhaling a slightly shaky breath. “Let’s call it a loan. I can’t afford the fee at the moment and there’s no point pretending otherwise. But things _will_ get better one day, and when that day comes I _will_ pay you back.” She nodded firmly. “All right?”

Bernie hesitated, then nodded too. “All right,” she agreed softly.

Serena’s smile widened minutely. “There. No more secrets.” She raised her hands and rested them on Bernie’s shoulders. “Now. Do you think we can do a rehearsal this afternoon that will stop Mr Hanssen having kittens?”

Bernie inclined her head to one side as if giving the matter serious consideration, then smiled a lopsided smile. “Let’s make him proud, shall we?”

* * * * *

Serena had to sit quite still for some time while having her makeup applied, which was both a blessing and a curse: a blessing because it gave her time to think and a curse because...it gave her time to think.

 _No more secrets,_ she had said but something was still unspoken between them. She wasn’t sure if it was her or Bernie that was holding something back. Perhaps both. It was only to be expected though: a five minute conversation followed by fifteen minutes of simulated jollity while they waited for the door to be unlocked couldn’t fix a week of awkwardness. Not completely, anyway. The attraction was acknowledged at least, and that would hopefully be enough to start them back on the road to normality. They needed to get there, for the sake of their friendship and for the show. This was Serena’s big break, her moment to shine. She needed this to work, for there to be other shows queuing up for her when she finished this run. Her career had taken long enough to get going.

Her mother’s illness had been like a bomb going off in her life, throwing everything up into the air and tossing it all back to earth in a different configuration. Now, for the first time, she dared to hope that she could recover from it and that was down to Bernie. Without Bernie’s friend acting as her solicitor, and without Bernie’s money paying the fees, she felt sure she would have had to withdraw from _Wicked_ and that would have been the end of her career. No casting director would have touched her with a ten foot pole.

It was impossible to be angry with Bernie, given the good her little deception had done. Rachel had said that Adrienne’s case was one of the strongest she’d ever seen and was convinced that the tribunal would rule in their favour. She had taken on every interaction with the DWP, every phone call and letter, every form and piece of paperwork. Serena hadn’t realised how much it had all been weighing on her until it was suddenly gone. Bernie was responsible for that lightening of the load and Serena couldn’t help but be glad of it, despite the way she had gone about it.

It was confusing, however. Bernie had cited Serena’s “messy family situation” in that car crash of a conversation last Sunday morning and Serena had assumed that meant that she didn’t want to get involved with Adrienne’s problems or her care. Serena had thought she had seen enough of what it involved and wanted no part of it. And she hadn’t blamed her for that - it was difficult enough for her and Marjorie and they were Adrienne’s flesh and blood. But now, knowing that Bernie had involved herself far more deeply than the simple contact with the right solicitor that Serena had believed, all that was up in the air. Bernie had said that it had been done out of care. For both of them, she’d said, and Serena believed in her sincerity.

She knew, all of a sudden, what it was that was still unspoken between them. It was a question, sharp and heavy in Serena’s heart.

_Why don’t you want me?_

She felt the question fill her up like air inside a balloon. If not because of Adrienne then why? Had what happened between them been just physical for Bernie? Or was she still hung up on Alex, after all this time?

Serena’s heart sank. That seemed the most likely scenario.

“All done,” the makeup artist said and Serena’s eyes snapped up. She hadn’t realised how long she’d been lost in her thoughts. She hadn’t even watched the makeup going on but when she looked in the mirror, she gasped. She couldn’t see Serena Campbell at all. Instead, Elphaba Thropp was staring back at her, with her green skin and long black hair and air of persecuted belligerence.

Calm settled over her and she put all her doubts and questions about what was happening with Bernie to one side. It was time to stop being silly. She was a professional and she had a job to do. And, she thought, squaring her shoulders, she was going to do it _well._

* * * * *

Hanssen and the production staff were seated about ten rows back in the stalls: close enough to see the fine details of the performances; far enough to get a complete picture. Serena kept Hanssen’s face in her peripheral vision as she belted out _The Wizard and I._ She was thinking of her first audition, how excited she had been and how elated too, dreaming of being cast in this show. And now she was here, just a day away from making her debut. All her dreams had come true, it seemed.

Everything was better than in the morning rehearsal. The songs were livelier, the dancing smoother, the funny lines landed and the heartfelt ones were soft and tender. She and Bernie performed well together - more than well, really. Wonderfully. It was like they were finally fulfilling the promise of their first song together, when their voices had flown into the rafters together and intertwined like they’d been made for each other. She had to force herself not to smile at the end of _What Is This Feeling,_ remembering she was in character and that Elphaba and Glinda hated each other at this point in the play. Still, when they went off to change their costumes she gave Bernie a quick thumbs up which was answered by a tentative smile.

The rehearsal continued to go well. _Popular_ was a triumph. Bernie seemed looser and more relaxed than she’d been in weeks and Serena thought that giving voice to the attraction between them had been the right decision. They were freer now, able to look at each other and meet each other’s eyes.

Before she knew it the first act was nearly over and she was belting the last notes of _Defying Gravity_ into the almost empty theatre, over the backing of all the other singers and their parts. She thought Hanssen looked pleased, though it was difficult to tell with him.

“I see our little lock-in did the trick,” Dom muttered sotto voce as the backstage crew readied the stage for the second act and the cast changed their costumes.

“Whatever can you mean?” Serena replied with a grin.

The second act always seemed to go by in an instant. Song transitioned into song until, what felt like mere minutes later, she and Bernie were staring into each other’s eyes, love and regret and longing pouring from their lips as they sang their final duet. As the last notes faded into nothing, Serena cupped Bernie’s face and kissed her gently on the cheek, close to the soft spot where her jaw met her throat. She felt Bernie shiver a little under her touch and her own body answered in kind.

She gazed into Bernie’s dark eyes and saw her own desire reflected back. Her question rose up in her again before she could suppress it. She almost said it aloud. _Why don’t you want me?_ But at the last moment she tore her eyes away, returning to the play, forcing herself to say her last few lines, to get through the final ten minutes.

The entire production crew applauded wildly when they were done and Hanssen even stood up to clap. “Impeccable, everyone,” he said, his clear, crisp tones somehow sounding as bright and carefree as earlier they had been short and clipped. “Ms Campbell, Ms Wolfe. You were both above reproach. I think that tomorrow is going to be a wonderful success.”

Bernie blushed. “Thank-you, Mr Hanssen. We hope so.”

Dom and Cam appeared as they were heading back to their dressing room, each of them slipping an arm round one of their shoulders until they were walking in a very ungainly line, four abreast, tripping a little over each other’s feet. “You two were fantastic,” Cam enthused, earning a faux-reproachful look from Dom.

“Oi, you’re meant to be buttering _me_ up.”

“Or what, you’ll nick the duvet tonight?”

“Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll go and sleep in my own room and leave you cold and lonely.”

They continued to bicker as they left Bernie and Serena at their door, their voices slowly fading away as they disappeared in the direction of Dom’s dressing room. Bernie smiled indulgently at their departing backs.

“I’m so glad they’re together,” she said. “They both deserve to be happy, so much.”

“Hmm,” Serena hummed in agreement, then flicked her eyes to Bernie’s face. “It’s nice to see romance blossoming.”

For a moment they stood, suspended in time, seemingly on the cusp of something important. Then it passed and Bernie looked away, crossing her arms over her chest. Serena’s heart clenched and she had to force a smile onto her face, pushing her feelings away into a corner where they could be dealt with later.

“I’d better go and get all this taken off,” she said, gesturing vaguely at the green makeup covering her face and neck and hands. “Will I see you tonight?”

Bernie looked up. “Would you like me to be there?”

“Of course.” Serena reached for Bernie and pressed her fingers briefly against the back of her hand. Bernie’s skin was warm and delightfully soft to the touch. With a supreme effort of will, she made herself pull away.

“Then I’ll be there,” Bernie replied with a small smile.

It was odd, Serena thought as she sat for her makeup removal, how such contradictory feelings could exist in one person at the same time. She was still thinking about it as she dressed for the show, as she made her way back to the theatre on the tube, as she grabbed the seat beside Bernie, as she marvelled at the talent of the outgoing performers and the emotions of their final songs together. She stole glances at Bernie as the outgoing Glinda and Elphaba spoke to the audience after the curtain call, singing each other’s praises, talking about how wonderful the other was, what great friends they’d become, how glad they were to have had this wonderful experience together on _Wicked._

Elphaba was Serena's role now. It felt truly real, possibly for the first time. In less than twenty-four hours she would be up on that stage in front of a packed house, singing the role that had inspired her to take up this career in the first place. It was her dream. It was everything she’d ever wanted and she _was_ happy: so, so happy. And yet...

And yet.

She stood up as the performers on stage took their last bow, applauding with the rest of the audience, but her eyes weren’t on the stage. They were glued to Bernie’s profile, drinking in the beautiful lines and planes of her friend’s face, the slight creases at the corners of her eyes, the way her golden hair shone as it curled behind her ear. Serena took a shallow breath and felt the realisation that had dawned that afternoon - when she’d kissed Bernie’s cheek up on that stage, her heart thudding and her hands trembling - crash through her again with a sickening sensation very like despair. Because there was something else, mixed in with her happiness, mingling with her pleasure in her role and her long-desired professional recognition. Something she hadn’t counted on.

She was in love with Bernie Wolfe.

And Bernie didn’t love her back.


	19. A Handprint on my Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena has a conversation with her sister and opening night finally arrives.

_And now whatever way our stories end_  
_I know you have rewritten mine_  
_By being my friend…_

Sleep proved to be an elusive prey that evening, much as Serena knew she needed to be rested and at her best for the next day. It was going to be the most important day of her life - the last thing she needed was to turn up to the performance with bags under her eyes and her words muddled through exhaustion. She sighed and turned over for the tenth time, trying to push thoughts of Bernie out of her head long enough to drop off. It wasn’t working.

“So, do you want to talk about it?”

Serena’s whole body jerked in surprise. “Jesus Marjorie, you almost gave me a sodding heart attack.”

By the time Serena had got back from the outgoing cast’s final performance, Marjorie had decided it was best to stay over. The plan had the double benefit of not interrupting Jason’s sleep - he was spending the night on the sofa - and having another adult there to help Adrienne in the night if needed. It was supposed to allow Serena to get some uninterrupted rest for once. It could have been going better.

Marjorie rolled over onto her side, leaning up on her elbow and resting her head on her hand as she looked down at her sister. “I don’t know why. You can’t possibly have thought I was asleep with all the tossing and turning you’ve been doing.”

Serena winced. “Sorry,” she said. She thought about reaching for the switch of the bedside lamp, but decided that the muted glow of the fairy lights wrapped round her headboard would suffice.

“So, pre-opening night jitters or something else?”

Serena sighed. “Something else,” she admitted.

Marjorie nodded. “A certain blonde soprano, by any chance?”

Serena sucked in a sharp breath. “I didn’t realise I was quite so obvious,” she murmured, her voice small.

Marjorie chuckled. “You aren’t,” she said. “But I have seen you falling in love before.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “I do recognise the symptoms.”

A flush rose on Serena’s cheeks and she had to look away. “It’s not ‘falling’,” she said slowly. “It’s ‘fallen’. I-” She stopped and took a deep breath. “I love her.”

To her dismay, Marjorie reacted by smiling and letting out a brief laugh. “So what’s the problem?”

Serena turned to her, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Marjorie…”

Her sister frowned, reaching out to pull Serena into her arms. “Oh, love,” she said, tucking Serena’s head under her chin. “It’s not meant to hurt, you know.”

Serena choked back a sob. “She...she doesn’t-” she began, but Marjorie cut her off.

“Really?” she said. “Are you sure?”

Serena blinked, pulling back from her sister’s embrace with a frown. “What?”

“I mean, has she told you that?” Marjorie stroked Serena’s hair back from her temple. “Have you actually talked?”

Serena’s mind raced, mentally reviewing their conversation in the dressing room and all their interactions since. “Well,” she admitted. “Sort of? I mean...in so many words.”

“So that’s a no,” Marjorie interrupted. “I thought actors were meant to be in touch with their feelings?” When Serena just gawped instead of replying she took pity. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

Serena swallowed hard, then launched into the story - how Bernie had come running when she called for help, how they’d fallen into bed together, how they’d agreed to stay friends but succumbed to the awkwardness as soon as rehearsals started again, how the show had suffered, how Cam and Dom had forced their hands by locking them in so they could clear the air.

“And she said I was beautiful, but nothing else,” she finished, her voice small and mournful. “If she’d felt anything more, she’d have said. Wouldn’t she?”

Marjorie stared at her, lips pursed. “So, just to check,” she said. “This time last week, you were having sex in this bed? This bed I am currently lying in?”

Serena swatted at her shoulder. “I think you’re focusing on the wrong part of the story.”

Marjorie snorted. “I don’t think I am,” she said. “You’ve got a girl who comes running the moment you ask for help, who hires an expensive lawyer to solve all your problems, who says you’re the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen, and who spends a night basically worshipping you while paying no heed to her own desires. And you think she _doesn’t_ love you?”

Serena’s cheeks burned. “She’s my best friend,” she began, but again Marjorie interrupted her.

“Who is _in love with you_.” She shook her head incredulously. “I’m sorry darling, but it’s obvious.”

With a huff Serena rolled over, turning her back to her sister. “This is serious,” she said, hurt contaminating her tone.

“Oh, as a heart attack, I know,” Marjorie said. “But I bet it could become a lot less tragic and a lot more fun if you just talked to each other properly.” She slipped her arm over Serena’s waist and squeezed a little. “Talk to her, Serena. Give the truth a chance to come out. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”

Serena pouted for a minute more, holding her body stiff and aloof from her sister’s warm embrace. Then she relaxed, rolling over again so she was on her back, looking up into Marjorie’s gently smiling face. “Do you really think so?” she said softly.

Marjorie nodded. “I’ve met her, remember,” she said. “I’ve seen how she looks at you. If I’d ever met a man who looked at me like that, we’d have been married by now.”

Serena blushed and aimed another swat at her sister’s shoulder, but she couldn’t help the shy hope that was bubbling up in her chest. Could Marjorie be right? Could Bernie possibly harbour feelings for her, more than the simple friendship they’d both been determined to box themselves into?

She would talk to Bernie, she decided. When they went to the cast lunch together. She would talk to Bernie and find out where they stood, once and for all.

Marjorie watched the look of determination steal across her sister’s face and smiled. “That’s more like it,” she said, and lay back down, readying herself for sleep once again. “Just one thing, Serena?”

“Yes?”

Marjorie grinned. “Try not to forget who’s sleeping next to you. I don’t want to wake up in the night to find you fondling me in your sleep.”

She just managed to bite back her shriek of laughter as Serena grabbed a pillow and took aim.

* * * * *

The production team had hired out a restaurant called Pulses for the day. It was the kind of place that served coffee and pastry in the morning before segueing into quick lunches in the afternoon, then pre-theatre dinners in the evening. As it was very close to the Apollo, Serena had been in several times in the week for strong, hot coffees and medicinal pains-au-chocolat while things were awkward with Bernie. She arrived just before one o’clock, full of nervous energy, desperate to find Bernie and talk to her, to tell her the truth at last about how she felt.

She crossed the threshold of the restaurant and looked around eagerly, searching for a familiar lanky frame and mop of messy blonde hair. She spotted Dom on his own next to the buffet, but the object of her search was nowhere in sight. Trying not to be too disappointed, she crossed the room to join her oldest friend, sidling up beside him with a small smile. “Hey,” she said, a little unsure. She didn’t know if he’d properly forgiven her for her outburst yesterday, her loss of control. But he smiled at her, showing his teeth, before pulling her into a hug.

“Pussycat,” he murmured into her ear. “I bloody love you, you know that don’t you?”

She felt tears prick at her eyes. “I love you too, Dom,” she said, squeezing him tight.

He pulled back, resting his hands on her shoulders. “You feeling all right? Ready for today?”

“Yes, of course.” She gave him a tight smile, then looked around again. “Is Bernie here yet?”

“Not yet,” he said. “She and Cam were having some kind of special twin bonding thing this morning. Apparently they always do it when she starts a new show.” He shrugged. “I don’t think we should expect them until later.”

Serena bit back her disappointment. “Oh,” she said, then forced a bright smile onto her face. “Oh well. It gives us a chance to chat. I feel like we haven’t been on our own together in ages.”

He laughed. “That’s because we haven’t, darling,” he said. “New love and all that.”

Serena raised an eyebrow. “Love, eh?” She grinned. “You and Cam are the real deal, are you?”

“Well, yes, I think so,” he said, then winked. “But I wasn’t actually talking about us.” Serena’s cheeks reddened, but she couldn’t suppress the smile that jumped to her lips. Dom’s eyes widened. “Oh, pussycat. Are you two…?”

She shook her head, still smiling. “No, no,” she said. “Nothing like that.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Not yet, is what I’m hearing.”

Her blush deepened. “I hope so,” she admitted.

Just as Dom was about to pull her into an exuberant hug, a newcomer arrived by the buffet and began loading up a plate with chicken legs and coleslaw. “Oh, hello,” she said, with a soft West-country accent. “You’re Serena, right? You’re who’s taking over my part.”

Serena turned to her with a slightly raised eyebrow. “And you’re Donna Jackson,” she said. “You’ve been keeping my part warm for me.”

For a moment it seemed like there would be a bit of unpleasantness, but then they both laughed and the tension was swept away.

“Come on,” Donna said, linking her arm with Serena’s. “I’ll introduce you to Mickie and Michael and the rest.”

Serena allowed herself to be led over to where the outgoing cast were talking and laughing together. She shook hands with Mickie Hendrie and Michael Spence, sharing pleasantries and anecdotes about shows she’d seen them in, and mutual acquaintances. She looked over at the door every few minutes, expecting to see Bernie walk in at any time, but every time she let her hopes rise she found them dashed when the next person to walk in was a production assistant, or an old cast member, or one of the background players.

“I’m sensing you’re waiting for someone,” Donna said after the tenth time she looked up at the door then away again. Serena blushed.

“Bernie,” she said. “I was hoping to talk to her before we have to go to the theatre.”

Donna eyed her speculatively for a moment, then nudged their shoulders together. “I see,” she said, winking. “It’s amazing how often this happens, you know.”

Serena blinked. “What?”

“Elphaba and Glinda,” Donna said. “I think it’s the closeness of the roles that does it. Even Mickie and I had a bit of a fling, a while back.”

Serena felt her hackles rise. “We haven’t had a _fling,”_ she insisted hotly. Donna looked surprised, stepping back a pace and holding up her hands in a gesture of surrender.

“Sorry,” she said. “True love, is it?”

For a moment Serena thought she might slap her. The feelings were too raw, lying in her heart acknowledged but unvoiced. She could take some gentle teasing from those she knew best, but this stranger? It was like poking a bruise.

Donna seemed to realise she’d crossed a line, because her face twisted in genuine contrition. “Sorry,” she said. “Ignore me - it’s a bit of a hard day for me, this. Letting go.”

Serena turned the apology over in her mind for a moment or two before she relaxed, flashing Donna a small smile. “It’s all right,” she said. “I’m sure I’l feel the same when it’s my time.” She started to talk about Elphaba, how she’d coveted the role for years before she was called for the audition, how invested she was in getting it right after all this buildup. Donna listened sympathetically, nodding in all the right places, laughing gently at the funny parts, eyes widening in surprised appreciation when Serena mentioned having seen Idina Menzel perform all those years ago.

“And now it’s yours,” Donna said, when Serena finally trailed off. “How do you feel?”

“Oh, excited, terrified, wondering what I’ve got myself into.”

Donna smiled. “You’ll do great.” She patted Serena on the arm, then looked past her as the restaurant door opened. She nodded towards the newcomer. “There’s your girl.”

Serena turned, her heart leaping into her mouth as she took in the vision of Bernie walking in off the street, her brown leather jacket hugging her lanky frame, her burgundy cashmere scarf wrapped round her neck, her messy golden hair tumbling to her shoulders in waves.

Cam was behind her, his hand resting on her elbow. They both looked a little tense. Serena frowned, wondering what had caused the apparent consternation, then Bernie’s eyes met hers and she had to suppress a shiver. Bernie’s face softened when she saw Serena, but there was still something there, in the set of her jaw and the stiffness of her muscles.

Cam went straight to Dom and Serena made a beeline for Bernie, reaching out as she arrived to run her hand down her forearm. “Hi,” she said, only slightly breathily. “Everything all right?”

Bernie nodded, then changed her mind and shook her head instead. “Oh, you know. Opening night and everything.” She shrugged. “My father will be there.”

Serena paled. “Right. Of course.” She let her hand drop back to her side. Suddenly all her grand plans to confess her feelings to Bernie seemed out of place and selfish. Somehow it had never occurred to her that Bernie would have her own issues around tonight, that she should be thinking about what her friend would need, not what she herself wanted.

Some of her dismay must have shown on her face, because Bernie frowned. “Serena? Is everything okay?”

Serena forced a tight smile onto her face. “Tickety-boo,” she said, then took Bernie’s hand in hers. “Come on, let me introduce you to Mickie and Donna.”

They stayed for another hour, chatting with the outgoing cast, sharing little insights about their characters and stories about other shows. Dom’s eyes met hers at one point with a question in them, but she just shook her head. He frowned, turning to Cam to whisper something in his ear. She deliberately looked away, returning her attention to the conversation which had somehow become a micro-analysis of the lyrics of _No-One Mourns the Wicked._

“You see, I think when Glinda sings ‘It just shows when you’re wicked you’re left only on your own’ she’s talking about herself,” Mickie was saying. “I think Glinda’s a really fascinating character. By the end of the show she’s completely unrecognisable.”

“Yes, yes, Mickie,” Donna said indulgently, with the air of someone who’d heard this speech before. “Elphaba taught Glinda how to have integrity, we know.”

Serena smiled, amused by the easy banter that flowed between the two friends. “And what did Glinda teach Elphaba then?”

Mickie opened her mouth to answer, but Bernie got there first. “How to be loved,” she said quietly, then started a little when she realised all eyes were on her. She cleared her throat, blushing a little. “I mean...that she was worthy of love.”

Serena stared at her unblinking for a long moment, watching the play of emotions across her face: discomfort, regret, the fear that she’d said too much. And, with a sudden start, she finally understood.

It wasn’t Adrienne that had scared Bernie off. It wasn’t the memory of Alex or some other old flame. It was far simpler than that. Bernie had even told her, that morning when she’d tried to walk back what they’d done. _Terminal closet case,_ she’d said. Serena had been so wrapped up in her own worries and assumptions that she hadn’t really heard her.

Serena knew what the closet meant. She’d spent some time in there herself, after all. It meant shame, self-loathing and fear, to one extent or another. Serena had assumed that Bernie’s reluctance to come out was all about fear - of her father, of being cut off from her mother - but what if there was more to it than that? What if Bernie didn’t believe she was worthy of love?

“Are you all right?” Bernie said, frowning. “You’re staring.”

Serena blinked and her eyes refocused. “What? Oh, sorry.” She blushed, looked away, then set her jaw and looked back, her courage rising. “Bernie-”

“Hey,” Cam interrupted, making them both jump. “It’s time you were in makeup, Miss Elphaba.”

Serena looked over at the clock and paled when she realised how late it was. “Oh hell,” she muttered. She looked back at Bernie. “I have to go, but...listen, can we talk? Later?”

Bernie nodded dumbly. “Sure,” she said.

Serena smiled. “Okay.” She took a deep breath. “See you on stage.” With that, she allowed Cam to lead her away, out of the restaurant and towards the stage door and the biggest night of her life.

* * * * *

She didn’t see Bernie again until the performance was just about to begin. Forget butterflies, Serena had an entire ecosystem of metamorphosising insects roiling in her gut. Seeing Bernie calmed her performance nerves a little, but added another layer of something else instead.

They could hear the buzz of the audience just beyond the curtain. Serena could see Dom out of the corner of her eye wringing his hands together and being patted on the back by Cam.

“Break a leg,” Bernie whispered, keeping her voice low because that old adage that if you could hear the audience then they could hear you was actually true.

“You too,” Serena whispered back, and then it was time.

The music was almost deafening from where she stood, watching from the wings as the opening number began. She watched as Bernie settled herself in her mechanical bubble, ready to make her entrance, then moved to get herself into position. She needed to be behind the stage at the right moment in order to cast the silhouette that formed the backdrop of the number’s climax.

Everything seemed to move very quickly. Before she knew it she heard her cue and the doors in front of her opened up. She could just see the outline of thousands of heads watching her as she ran out onto the stage, and then the theatre was filled with applause at her entrance and the nerves melted away. Suddenly she felt at peace, like nothing could go wrong, because she was where she was supposed to be. Where she was born to be.

Within what seemed like seconds she was alone on the stage, the first notes of her solo - _The Wizard and I -_ floating through the air.

Just like at her audition and the final rehearsal, she channelled all of her own hopes into the song. She hoped that the performance would go well. She hoped that the show would get good reviews. She hoped that Bernie would be receptive when they talked later. She hoped Bernie would love her back. Above all, she hoped Bernie would love her back. She poured all those hopes into the song and released them into the theatre, the notes rising like a resurrected phoenix into the rafters before slowly fading away.

She almost forgot herself when Bernie reappeared on the stage for their first duet. With an effort of will she forced her face to show dislike rather than desire, antagonism rather than affection, leeriness rather than love. They were perfect together, better than ever, and the applause, when the song was over, was nearly deafening.

There was no time to revel in their success because the show just kept moving. _Popular_ was an exercise in torture. Bernie was so gorgeous and so good: Serena was glad she didn’t have to do much in this number so she could just watch her. Bernie, for her part, seemed to be a lot more touchy feely than she had been in rehearsal. Every touch tingled, every inch of skin that came in contact with Bernie burned with a sweet ache.

“Oh, Miss Elphaba,” Bernie said at the climax of the number, tucking a flower behind her ear. “You’re beautiful.”

Was Serena imagining things or was there more of Bernie in there than Glinda? She stared into her eyes, looking for her own love reflected back, hoping for it more than she’d ever hoped for anything.

“I have to go,” she said, when she knew she’d left it just a little too long. She ran from the stage, hearing Bernie finish the song, trying to calm the racing of her heart.

“You okay?” Cam whispered to her as she dashed to her costume change. She nodded tightly, mentally castigating herself for letting her personal feelings affect the show and resolving not to allow it to happen again.

She managed it right up until _Defying Gravity_ when all of her good intentions went out the window. It started fine, with her and Bernie singing together beautifully as always, but all too soon she found her own feelings leaking into Elphaba.

“Glinda, come with me,” she said earnestly. “Think of what we could do.” She stared into Bernie’s eyes as all her love and longing poured from her lips. “ _Unlimited. Together we’re unlimited. Together we’ll be the greatest team there’s ever been. Glinda...dreams the way we planned them…”_

_“...if we work in tandem…”_

Even though she knew it was in the script, that Bernie was only performing her part, she couldn’t help but let her heart give a little leap. Could Bernie see? Could she see how good they would be together, how perfect?

The foolishness of letting herself think that way came crashing down on her seconds later when Bernie, following the script, rejected her invitation, when she had to finish the song somehow with her heart in her mouth, when she was raised up in the air for the Act One climax to the gasps and applause of the audience.

She’d spoken to people who found the climax of _Defying Gravity_ difficult to sing but she’d never felt that way until tonight. It took everything she had, every drop of professional pride, every moment of hard graft in rehearsals to get through it.

When the curtain dropped she felt drained, like the song had taken everything from her. She barely heard the applause, barely noticed herself being lowered back to the stage, barely felt Bernie’s arms wrapping round her as she led her back to their dressing room.

“Serena,” she murmured. “Are you okay? Come on now, you’re worrying me.”

Serena blinked, slowly coming back to herself. “What?” She looked around, seemingly surprised to find herself on a sofa instead of on stage. “Oh! I’m fine.” She tried to smile. “I’m fine.”

Bernie frowned and pressed a palm to her forehead. “You don’t seem fine.” She let her hand move down Serena’s face to cup her cheek. Serena’s heart skipped and she leaned into the touch, letting her eyes flicker closed.

“Bernie…” she whispered.

A small, inconclusive sound escaped Bernie’s lips. “Serena…” she murmured. She swallowed hard. “What did you...what did you want to talk about? Earlier?”

Serena shook her head, a tiny smile gracing her lips. “This isn’t the best time,” she began, but Bernie interrupted.

“Please,” she said. She didn’t remove her hand.

Serena opened her eyes and looked at her, really looked. Her heart leapt to see everything she’d hoped, everything she’d wanted shining back at her. She took a breath, then nodded. She couldn’t keep it in now, even if she’d wanted to. The words were in her throat, screaming to be let out. She let the knowledge that she was actually going to do this wash over her and, surprisingly, she felt peaceful; like this had been inevitable somehow, like they’d always been heading here.

She pinned Bernie’s gaze with her own.

“I love you,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry (not sorry) for the cliffhanger :-) My intention is to get the next chapter out before Christmas, but there may be a delay. I'm still at work for the next week and it's going to be a super busy week. Also, the next chapter is _really_ important, so I don't want to rush it. It's the chapter this whole fic has been building towards. Follow me on [tumblr](http://wonkots42.tumblr.com) if you want, I sometimes post teasers and progress updates on there.


	20. For Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Act Two commences, and Bernie faces her father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reminder of the casting for this part, so you can picture everything.
> 
> Serena Campbell - Elphaba Thropp, aka The Wicked Witch of the West  
> Morven Digby - Nessarose Thropp, her sister  
> Bernie Wolfe - G(a)linda Upland, aka Glinda the Good  
> Dominic Copeland - Fiyero Tiggular, Winkie prince and Captain of the Palace Guard  
> Raf di Lucca - Boq, a Munchkin  
> Guy Self - The Wizard, a sentimental man  
> Sacha Levy - Dr Dillamond, a goat on the lam  
> Mo Effanga - Madame Morrible, Press Secretary and the finest purveyor of Fake News in all of Oz

_Who can say if I've been changed for the better?_  
_I do believe I have been changed for the better…_

For a long moment neither of them said anything. Silence stretched as they stared at each other, immobile, like flies trapped in amber. Then Bernie let her hand drop away from Serena’s cheek. Serena immediately felt cold, bereft. Her heart clenched painfully at the look in Bernie’s eyes.

“Why did you say that?” Bernie said softly. Her cheeks were pale as chalk.

Serena swallowed hard. “Because it’s true,” she said, her voice trembling only slightly. “I...I thought you might…” She trailed off, flushing hard, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole. She suddenly realised - or rather, remembered - that she was in full costume and makeup and felt ridiculous, like a cartoon character or a clown. She stood up abruptly. “Never mind,” she managed to grind out through clenched teeth. “Just...just forget I said anything.”

“Serena,” Bernie breathed, reaching out for her friend’s hand, but a sharp knock on the door interrupted whatever she’d planned to say.

“We need you in wardrobe, Bernie,” a voice called from the corridor. “Back on in ten minutes.”

They both flinched. Serena stared steadfastly at the floor while Bernie looked on helplessly. “I have to go,” she said. “Not that I don’t want to have this conversation.” She shook her head, sighing when Serena wouldn’t meet her eyes. “To be continued.”

The production assistant waiting for her in the corridor wasn’t someone she knew well. “Not interrupting anything I hope,” he said, winking.

“And what exactly do you mean by that?” she snapped. She was surprised by the force of her own anger, though it was mostly on Serena’s behalf. Her friend’s professional integrity was so important to her and the last thing she’d want was to be the subject of idle speculation from the backstage crew.

He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Sorry,” he said.

“It’s fine,” she replied, her tone clipped and filled with all the polite disdain that an aristocratic background and thirteen years of an expensive boarding school could muster. “Is Cam around?”

“I’ll find him for you.”

He seemed quite pleased to be passing her off to a wardrobe assistant. She needed to change into her first Act Two costume, a powder blue dress with an asymmetric bodice. Her hair needed to be pinned back too so she could wear the hat that went with the outfit. It was a more subdued costume than some of the more princessy dresses she had to wear in other parts of the show: only fitting, given that the song she’d be singing in it was bittersweet at best.

“Greg said you wanted me,” Cam said, arriving just as the wardrobe assistant pinned the hat in place.

“Uhm...yes,” she said, then looked round to glance helplessly and meaningfully at the girl who’d just helped her into her costume.

Cam took one look at the expression on her face and linked his arm with hers. “I’ll walk you to your mark,” he said. As soon as they were out of earshot of the wardrobe assistant he pulled her close to his side. “What’s happened?”

Bernie drew in a sharp breath. “Serena,” she murmured. “She, uhm...she said she…”

“Loves you?”

Both Bernie and Cam snapped their heads up to see Dom approaching in his emerald green Captain of the Guard costume. He was grinning from ear to ear.

“What did you say?”

Dom rolled his eyes. “Serena loves you,” he said. “Head over heels, truly madly deeply, always and forever.” He cocked his head to the side. “She could probably have found a slightly better time to reveal all, but hey.” He shrugged.

Bernie blinked, feeling like a Fiat 500 that had just been poleaxed by an articulated lorry. “But,” she stammered, “I’m...and she’s…”

Dom raised an eyebrow. “You’re...a lesbian disaster? And she’s...a distinguished bisexual?” He smirked. “Match made in heaven.”

She shook her head, face twisted in distress. “No, she’s...she’s…” She sucked in a breath. “She’s amazing and gorgeous and...and perfect and I’m...I’m…”

To her horror, she could feel tears building behind her eyes. Cam’s face softened in concern. “You’re what, Bernie?”

“Not good enough!”

The smirk melted from Dom’s face. He opened his mouth to speak, his hand rising to reach for hers.

“Places, please!” Hanssen called. “Act Two begins in ninety seconds.”

Bernie started. “Oh, shit,” she muttered, flapping her hands in front of her eyes. _Focus, Wolfe,_ her mind hissed furiously. _You’ve got a job to do._

“Bernie,” Dom began, but she waved him off.

“We’ve got work to do,” she said.

She and Dom dashed off to get to their marks. He kept shooting her concerned glances as the ensemble sang the opening of _Thank Goodness_ but she ignored him. She was too busy trying to suture the ragged fragments of her self control back together.

The curtain rose and the platform on which she, Dom and Mo were standing slid forward. She raised her arms and plastered a wide smile onto her face.

_“Oh what a celebration we’ll have today!”_

Her voice was clear and strong, her professional training winning out over her tempestuous emotions.

While most of her consciousness was devoted to the song, she reserved a small part to turn things over in her mind. Her eyes raked over the crowd, looking for where her father was sitting. There was no chance of seeing him with the house lights down and the stage lights up of course, but she could feel his presence nonetheless, lurking, like a monster in a fairytale.

But...

Serena loved her. _Loved_ her. It was almost beyond imagining - a precious gift, rare and wonderful. She couldn’t help how her heart filled with warmth at the thought of it.

But…

Her father.

 _“There’s a kind of a sort of...cost,”_ she sang, scanning the audience. _“There’s a couple of things get...lost.”_ She drew in a breath and squared her shoulders. _“There are bridges you cross you didn’t know you crossed until you’ve crossed!”_

The part required Glinda to appear conflicted: pained and anxious beneath a veneer of cheer. Bernie found that she was not required to act at all.

* * * * *

Glinda and Elphaba were only rarely on stage together in Act Two and Serena was glad of it. She was dreading having to act with her in the couple of dramatic scenes that were coming up.

She’d never felt so foolish in all her life. To have fallen in love with Bernie was one thing - understandable by anyone’s standards - but to have _told_ her? And in the middle of opening night of all times! She couldn’t imagine how she’d possibly thought that was a good idea.

Except for the look that had been in Bernie’s eyes as they stared at each other in the dressing room. Her heart clenched just thinking of it - so soft and warm and full of that same unnamed emotion she’d seen the night they’d spent together when Bernie had held her so gently and taken care of her so well. It was that look that had given her hope. Foolish hope.

“Pull yourself together Campbell,” she whispered to herself, holding back makeup-ruining tears by sheer force of will.

She tried not to think about the fact that she made her Act Two entrance by literally coming out of a closet. It was just a bit too on the nose.

Once she was on stage again, playing out Elphaba’s last meeting with her sister Nessarose, she found that she was able to melt into her character. Acting with Morven was always fun - she was young and inexperienced but so talented. Serena could already tell she was going to be a star.

Scene transitioned into scene, seeming to charge forward like a runaway train racing towards the moment when she and Bernie would share the stage again. She felt her stomach twist painfully and had to physically restrain herself from turning to watch for Bernie’s entrance.

“What’s going on?” Bernie called, approaching from the left wing. Her eyes were on Dom as Fiyero as she made her entrance but when she saw Serena she stopped dead. “Elphie?” A hand flew to her mouth and then she was surging forward, wrapping Serena in a tight hug. “Oh, thank Oz you’re alive!”

Serena relaxed into the embrace. She curled her hand round Bernie’s waist and buried her face in her hair, taking in a deep inhalation of her scent - hairspray and greasepaint tonight, but that familiar smell of plain soap and apple shampoo and clean skin underneath. She drank her in, feeling like she could never get enough of being held by this woman.

It went on a little too long. She sensed the audience’s surprise at the pause and opened her eyes to see Guy Self looking at them with a tiny smirk on his face. She was glad of the green makeup that covered her automatic blush.

Bernie pulled back from the embrace with a tiny sound of distress. “Oh, but you shouldn’t have come,” she said, her eyes raking over Serena’s face. “If anyone discoverates you…”

Dom joined in with his line and Serena almost flinched at the reminder that she and Bernie weren’t alone, that the concern and worry Bernie was lavishing upon her were actually just acting.

She and Dom left the stage together, leaving Bernie to finish the scene with Guy and Mo. He held her hand tightly. “All right, pussycat?” he whispered sotto voce.

“I don’t know,” she whispered back. Her eyes were dark and troubled, flitting around and alighting on anything but his face.

He rolled his eyes. “Honestly, the two of you are the most frustra-” He bit off his sentence as Bernie started to sing again on the stage - they were due back on in seconds for their romantic solo, _As Long As You’re Mine._

They knelt together on the stage staring deeply into each other’s eyes. Luckily Dom’s eyes were blue rather than brown - if she’d had to sing this song to someone who even remotely made her think of Bernie… Bad enough that half the lyrics seemed to remind her of their night together: how they’d fallen into bed, how lucky she’d felt that Bernie Wolfe - so beautiful and generous and kind - actually _wanted_ her.

 _“My wildest dreamings could not foresee…”_ she sang, hoping the tremor in her voice could be passed off as a vibrato. _“Lying beside you with you wanting me.”_

Dom held her steady throughout the song, just as he had what felt like a lifetime ago in her first audition when they’d danced and she’d sung and neither of them had had any idea that being cast in this show would bring them anything more than a job and some professional success. But _Wicked_ had brought Bernie to Serena and Cameron to Dom and - even though it hadn’t worked out exactly like Serena had wanted - she was glad. She was glad to have had the chance to know Bernie, to be her friend, to get over her prejudices and really _see_ her.

 _“Say there’s no future for us as a pair…”_ Dom sang.

 _“And though I may know I don’t care,”_ she replied as the music swelled. Her voice was steady again.

* * * * *

In the wings, Bernie was concentrating on remembering all of her upcoming lines. She had two more scenes with Serena and one with Mo and the ensemble before the finale. Then it would all be over and she could think about...whatever was going to come next.

As soon as she decided what she wanted that to be.

Serena and Dom’s song ended. Serena passed her on her way off stage, meeting her eyes briefly. Before she could think about what she was doing, Bernie reached out for her hand and grasped it firmly. “You were wonderful,” she whispered, low enough not to be picked up by any microphones. She felt Serena squeeze her hand.

“Don’t pretend to hit me too hard now,” Serena whispered back. Bernie couldn’t help but smile.

“You too,” she said, then let her go. The exchange had taken mere seconds but it was like something had clicked into place inside her. She felt calm again, confident, ready to end the show on a bang.

The scene where Glinda and Elphaba fought in Munchkinland had, in the beginning, been the easiest one for them both to rehearse. They played off each other so well, tossing the emotions of the scene - grief, jealousy, betrayal - between them, like kids passing each other a ball.

Then, when they had become friends, it had become the hardest scene to practise. It was because of the slap - Bernie had always been uncomfortable with it, but had done it with little complaint in the beginning. As rehearsals wore on, it became harder and harder for her to make herself do the action, even though it was a staged, non-contact slap that had been expertly choreographed by a professional fight-director. It felt real to Bernie, and that was enough.

_“I know why you find it difficult,” Serena began hesitantly, calling through to her co-star’s dressing room via the wide open connecting door. “But I promise, you can’t hurt me.”_

_Bernie appeared in the doorway, her brown eyes liquid and sad as a spaniel’s. “I know I don’t_ **_want_ ** _to hurt you,” she said. “I don’t even want to pretend to hurt you because I...care about you.” She shrugged. “You don’t hit the people you care about. You just don’t.”_

_Serena’s heart melted. “Oh, Bernie,” she breathed, crossing to her friend in two strides and folding her up in a hug. “My sweet girl.”_

Bernie shook her head to clear away the memory, just as the stage lights came up. “That’s right!” she called, waving to an imaginary Dorothy. “Just take that one road the whole time!”

The fake fight went over just as well as it had in their final rehearsal. The sound department timed the noise of the slaps precisely and Serena reacted perfectly, turning her head just as Bernie’s hand would have touched her cheek. Bernie’s fingers skimmed past her skin, millimetres away, so close she could feel warmth tingling on her fingertips.

Bernie even managed to enjoy herself a little bit in the scene, which was more than she’d expected when the second act began. She and Serena acted so well together; they always had, since their first improvised scene at the callback audition. Their chemistry had been palpable even then, and now it was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

 _One more song,_ Bernie thought as she left the stage. _The big one._

She listened from backstage while Serena performed her last solo. She had the audience eating out of the palm of her hand, Bernie could tell. She was glad of it - Serena deserved this great performance and all the opportunities it would bring.

“You ready for this?” Cam whispered as she waited in the wings for her cue. She nodded tightly, listening for Serena to say the line that preceded her entrance.

“...if you don’t at least try to keep speaking…”

Bernie took a breath and trotted forward. Serena spun around to meet her, her eyes flashing.

“Go away.”

“They’re coming for you.”

“Go away!”

Bernie stepped forward a little more. “Let the little girl go and that poor little dog...Dodo.” She paused for the laughter that always followed that line. “Elphaba, I know you don’t want to hear this but someone has to say it - you are out of control. I mean come on! They’re just shoes! Let it go.” More laughter bubbled up from the crowd.

The scene progressed quickly until, almost before she knew it, Bernie found herself standing in front of Serena, listening to her begin the iconic song that was the emotional core of the whole performance.

 _“I’m limited,” Serena_  sang, then reverted to speaking for a moment. “Just look at me.” She shook her head slightly. _“I’m limited. And just look at you, you can do all I couldn’t do. Glinda…”_ She held out her prop magic book with slightly trembling hands, staring into Bernie’s eyes. _“So now it’s up to you.”_ She took a step forward, pinning Bernie with her gaze, stealing away her breath, and when she spoke again Bernie would have sworn it was Serena speaking, not Elphaba. “Now it’s up to you.”

Bernie clasped the prop book close to her chest, glad of the solidity of it. She felt slightly shaky, but when she began to sing her voice was calm and clear. _“I’ve heard it said,”_ she sang, her voice soft and mellifluous, _“that people come into our lives for a reason, bringing something we must learn. And we are led to those who help us most to grow - if we let them. And we help them in return.”_

Serena’s expression was gentle and warm, her eyes blazing love into the rapidly dwindling space between them. Suddenly it was as if the audience dropped away, like the spotlight picking them out on the stage was the whole world and she and Serena were the only two people alive in it. Bernie didn’t remember finishing her first verse, but within what felt like seconds Serena was opening her mouth to begin her part.

 _“It well may be,”_ she sang, reaching out to clasp one of Bernie’s hands, _“that we may never meet again in this lifetime, so let me say before we part: so much of me is made of what I’ve learned from you…”_ She pulled Bernie’s hand up, tangling their fingers together. _“You’ll be with me…like a handprint on my heart…”_ With that she placed Bernie’s hand, palm down, onto her chest, warm against her skin. Bernie stared at her wonderingly as Serena sang on and she felt the fast thrum of her friend’s pulse beneath her trembling fingertips.

_“And just to clear the air, I ask forgiveness...for the things I’ve done you blame me for.”_

Bernie shook her head, tears springing to her eyes. _“But then I guess we know there’s blame to share…”_

Together they completed the line, their voices joining and merging and soaring through the theatre. _“And none of it seems to matter anymore!”_

Bernie felt like she was soaring too. Her heart was light, filled with all the love she felt for the woman in front of her; love that was being expressed through the lyrics of the song and the fire in her eyes. Serena’s voice was clear and pure as, for the first time, she took the higher part of their duet, the music creating a perfect auditory metaphor for the characters’ journeys. Bernie had to reach down deep to find the lower register required for her part, but tonight it felt easy.

 _“Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better?”_ they sang. Serena reached up to cover Bernie’s hand, still resting on her chest. _“I do believe I have been changed for the better...”_

Bernie nodded towards her. _“Because I knew you…”_

Serena smiled tremulously. _“Because I knew you…”_

Bernie stepped impossibly closer, her eyes sliding closed as Serena’s hands came up to cup her cheeks. _“Because I knew you,”_ they sang together. _“I have been changed…”_ Bernie took one last breath as the music dropped away. _“For good…”_

Serena’s smile turned a little sad as she tugged Bernie forward for the cheek kiss they had rehearsed. Bernie opened her eyes and watched, feeling slightly detached, like she was observing the scene in slow motion as Serena’s face came closer.

Bernie forgot she was acting. She forgot the audience and the spotlight and the weeks of rehearsals. She forgot Hanssen’s careful direction and the script and the decades of _Wicked_ history she was about to rewrite. All she could think about was Serena, the woman she loved with all her heart, who was leaning towards her, eyes dark and hooded and beautiful.

Bernie turned her head, interrupting the platonic gesture they’d rehearsed, and captured Serena’s lips in a kiss.

She felt Serena tense, gasping in surprise against her lips. Then, like she couldn’t help herself either, she heard a whimper escape from Serena’s throat and she melted against her, kissing her like she was dying of thirst and Bernie’s lips were a fountain.

Serena’s mouth was exactly as soft and warm and delicious as Bernie had remembered. Tears pricked behind her eyelids at the rightness of it, the feeling of completion, of coming home at last after a long, weary day.

The ending of _For Good_ usually inspired loud applause. Tonight, the sound of a pin dropping could have been heard in the darkened theatre.

A loud banging sound forced them apart. Bernie gasped, her eyes wide and wild as they raked over Serena’s face. “What was that?” she exclaimed, realising only after the fact that those were actually the words she was supposed to say.

Serena blinked hard once, then again. “Hurry,” she choked out. “No-one can know you’re here.” In a daze, Bernie moved to her mark at the edge of the stage. “Hide yourself, my sweet,” Serena said, leaning down to press a kiss onto her forehead. “Hide.”

Bernie watched as Serena moved to the other end of the stage, pulling a curtain closed behind her, setting up the stage for Elphaba’s ‘death’ scene. She breathed fast and hard, trying to calm her racing heart.

She would never know how she got through the last ten minutes of the show. She must have delivered her lines on autopilot. Before she knew it, she found herself backstage, waiting next to Serena to go back out and take her bow. She held Serena’s hand in hers, gripping so hard that it would have been painful if Serena wasn’t squeezing back just as tightly.

“All right?” Serena murmured, her voice tight.

Bernie couldn’t speak. Instead, she just nodded and impulsively leaned forward to kiss Serena’s startled lips.

Before Serena had a chance to respond, it was their turn to return to the stage for their applause. Automatic actress smiles appeared on both their faces as they rushed out onto the stage hand in hand, to be met by an absolute avalanche of sound. Almost every member of the audience was on their feet, applauding like their lives depended on it. Some of the more effusive members of the crowd were whistling and hooting. Serena’s face lit up in ecstatic joy and Bernie felt her heart thud painfully in her chest.

Serena quickly dropped a kiss onto Bernie’s flushing cheek and - somehow - the applause got even louder. They bowed together one last time, and then the rest of the cast - Dom and Morven and Raf and Mo and Sacha and Guy and all the rest - came rushing forward to fold them up into the ensemble.

“I’d say that was a success, pussycat,” Dom whispered into Serena’s ear, just loud enough for Bernie to hear too. All she could do was nod.

* * * * *

“Well,” Hanssen said later, lifting a glass of champagne into the air in a toast. “Not quite the ending we’d rehearsed, but I believe the audience were in favour.” The whole cast chuckled while Bernie and Serena - freshly divested of green makeup - blushed and looked at each other shyly. “To our first successful performance!”

“Our first successful performance,” everyone repeated, taking sips from their own glasses.

“Bernie,” a production assistant said when the initial noise began to die down. “Serena. There are some fans at the stage door looking for autographs. Do you want to…”

“Yes!” Serena exclaimed, surprised excitement colouring her voice. “Did they ask for me? Really?”

Bernie smiled. “Of course they did, Elphaba.” She stood and held out her hand for Serena to take. “Coming?”

They walked hand in hand to the stage door. They hadn't talked about what had happened at the end of _For Good._ It seemed unnecessary somehow, in the face of the audience’s applause and Hanssen’s approval and the twinkling eyes of Dom and Cam and the rest of their friends in the cast.

The little clump of fans outside the stage door cheered brightly when they emerged. It had begun to spit with rain and it was a cold and miserable night. Bernie barely felt the discomfort, still alight with the glow of the performance and Serena. “Hello,” she said to the first person to hand her a programme and a Sharpie. “Did you enjoy the show?”

The woman’s blue eyes were bright with glee. “Oh yes,” she said, pushing a strand of dark blonde hair behind her ear. “You and Serena were wonderful.” She blushed. “And the ending! I’ve seen this show three times and it never ended like that before.”

A shy smile spread over Bernie’s face as she glanced at Serena who was chatting to another starstruck young fan. “Oh, well,” she said, “it just seemed right, I suppose.” She returned her attention to the programme. “Who shall I make it out to?”

“Lillian,” the fan replied, grinning widely when Bernie scrawled a dedication onto the programme. She thanked her again as she moved off to get Serena’s autograph too.

Bernie spoke to a few more fans and gave a few more autographs before a horribly familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Berenice.”

Bernie’s spine stiffened and the blood drained from her face. Slowly, she turned to face the source of the voice. “Father,” she said. She couldn’t meet his eye, instead choosing to look past him into the night. To her surprise, there seemed to be someone else with her father, just a little way back, in the shadows.

“Hello darling.”

Bernie blinked as the source of the new voice stepped forward into the light. “Mother?” she said, her eyes finding Jocasta Dunn’s dazzling smile. “You’re here?”

Jocasta never attended any of her performances. It had suited her father to keep her alone and isolated in her gilded cage in Holby for decades. Bernie could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times her mother had even been to London in the years since she’d given up treading the boards herself.

“Yes, well,” Jocasta replied, her smile widening. “I thought I’d make a special effort.”

Bernie’s mind reeled, wondering how she had convinced her father to bring her, what promises she might have made or humiliations she might have endured to pay for this chance. She surged forward and pulled her mother into her arms. “Oh, mummy,” she gasped. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Serena signed the programme of the last waiting fan. Smiling at the display in front of her, she sidled up behind Bernie and coughed slightly. “Will you introduce me, Bernie?”

Bernie pulled back from the hug, grinning wildly. “Of course. Mother, this is Serena Campbell, the best co-star and best friend anyone could ask for. Serena, this is my mother, Jocasta Dunn.”

Serena held out a hand for Jocasta to shake. “I know,” she said, feeling a little starstruck herself. “My mother saw you in _Phantom_ back in ‘86. Your cast recording was the first CD I ever bought myself.”

The older woman blushed. “Oh, well,” she said. “It’s an awful long time since I was a performer. But you my dear, you were absolutely wonderful. Such a talent.”

Serena didn’t think she was ever going to stop smiling. Just as she opened her mouth to reply, Lord Wolfe cut across them.

“Berenice,” he repeated. “I’d like to discuss tonight’s…” He paused, just long enough for his upper lip to curl into a sneer. “...performance.”

Bernie’s face was suddenly blank, all the happiness and excitement leached from it in an instant. “Of-of course,” she said hesitantly. “Uhm...would the two of you like to come and join the cast?”

Her father nodded curtly and strode ahead to the ajar stage door. Serena hung back a pace or two, staying with Jocasta. The two of them shared a worried glance before hurrying to follow Bernie and Lord Wolfe.

The cast party was in full swing when they returned, champagne flowing freely as everyone took advantage of the fact that the next day was Sunday and the theatre would be dark. Jac and Zosia, who had been backstage all night in case of emergency, were huddled in a corner together and doing what could only be described as canoodling. Morven was chatting to Sacha and Guy, while Raf hung back with a phone plastered to his ear, probably talking to Fletch. But Jocasta’s eyes passed over all of them to rest on the two men leaning against the far wall, talking softly together. Dominic and-

“Cameron,” Jocasta breathed. Serena stopped short, following the path of the other woman’s eyes. She watched as Cameron seemed to sense her attention and turned, the smile freezing on his face as their eyes met.

They seemed to drink each other in for a long, silent moment. Serena could see tears shining in Jocasta’s eyes, reflecting the soft mood lighting of the room like little stars. Gently, she took her hand. “Would you like to talk to him?” she asked softly.

Dumbly, Jocasta nodded. Serena stepped forward, tugging on the older woman’s hand. Cameron moved at the same time and they met in the middle, Jocasta staring up into his face in wonder. “Oh,” she murmured, reaching up to stroke her hand down his stubbled cheek. “You’re so handsome.”

His lips quirked. “Madre,” he said flippantly, but his eyes were wet.

The reunion was interrupted by two voices in the corner, both trying to be hushed but cutting effortlessly through the happy crowd like the blade of a scalpel, releasing snatches of the conversation to anyone who cared to listen.

“...left _Les Mis_ for…”

“...it’s a good show…”

“...sentimental nonsense…”

“...extremely popular…”

“...and the ending…”

“...audience loved…”

“... _degenerate_.”

The party went silent as every head turned to look at the source of the word, dripping with disapproval and disgust. Lord Wolfe’s face was red as old brick and he was looming over Bernie, somehow managing to make her look small, despite her height.

Serena stared at Bernie and her father, her heart in her mouth. Bernie’s eyes were downcast, glued to the floor, her arms folded over her stomach. She looked lost and defeated and Serena’s heart ached.

Then, as if she could sense Serena’s eyes on her, she looked up. Her eyes sought out Serena’s and paused there for a moment, an unreadable expression on her face. Then her eyes slid past her, alighting first on her mother and then on Cameron. When she turned to face her father again, her spine was a little straighter.

“What exactly was degenerate about it?”

Lord Wolfe’s nostrils flared. “You know exactly what-” he snapped, shaking his head. “What you did - on stage! - with that...that _woman.”_ He spat out the last word like it was dirty. “I will not have our family name associated with that behaviour, Berenice.”

Bernie looked down at her feet again, nodding slowly. “Right,” she said. “Okay. I’ve made a mistake then.”

Her father nodded triumphantly. “Yes,” he said. “One you will be rectifying at once. You will leave this show and find decent work. If you must work at all.”

Bernie shook her head. “No,” she said. “That’s not what I meant.” She raised her head to meet his eyes. “The mistake I made was keeping your family name. I should have used mother’s. Like my brother did.”

She held her hand out. After a stunned second Cameron peeled away from the group and crossed over to her in two long strides. He grabbed her hand and squeezed, moulding himself to her side. “Hello father,” he said casually, tipping him a mock salute.

Lord Wolfe looked from one to the other of them, his eyes popping, face red. For once, he seemed at a loss for words.

Bernie glanced at Serena again, then drew herself up to her full height. “This is how it is,” she said. “This is _my_ life and _my_ work. _That woman,_ as you so eloquently put it, is my dearest friend. Oh, and I am _not_ a degenerate or any of the other words you’ve thrown at me over the years, but I _am_ a lesbian. And if you don’t approve of that-” She paused, the shaky breath she drew in through her nose the only thing betraying that she was not as confident as she seemed to be. “If you don’t approve of that,” she said again. “You can go hang.”

Complete silence reigned for several long moments. Then, without a word, Jocasta strode towards her husband and children. She stopped in front of Bernie and Cam, her eyes shining with love and pride. “Well done, my darling,” she said softly, then turned to face her husband, shoulder to shoulder with Cameron.

Lord Wolfe looked at each of them in turn: his once-subservient wife, his newly fierce daughter, his unacknowledged son. His mouth opened but no sound came out as he clutched his left arm, his face turning purple. Bernie frowned.

“Father?” she said, taking a single step towards him.

His hand moved from his arm to his heart. A choked breath escaped his lips and then he fell, collapsing in a heap on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what you're thinking - "He had a heart?" Also, "another bloomin' cliffhanger?"


	21. No-One Mourns the Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie and her family deal with the aftermath of the events of opening night.

_Nothing grows for the wicked_  
_They reap only_  
_What they've sown_

Serena was woken by her mobile blaring out Van Morrison’s  _ Brown Eyed Girl  _ at four in the morning. She felt Marjorie stir beside her as she fumbled for it, her fingers numb, her eyes stinging and bleary. She’d only dropped off about an hour before.

After Lord Wolfe had dropped to the floor, it had taken a moment for anyone to react. In the end it had been Serena who’d rushed to his side, cleared his airway, checked his pulse, yelled for someone to call an ambulance. Cameron had seemed to come back to life after that, letting his medical training take over as he dropped to his knees beside his estranged father and began to perform CPR. The ambulance had arrived within ten minutes and spirited him off to St Thomas’s, a mile and a half away across the river. Bernie hadn’t wanted her to go to the hospital with them.

“Bernie?” Serena murmured blearily. 

“No, I’m just using her phone,” Cam said, his voice a little tinny. “Sorry, you were asleep.”

“It’s all right,” she said softly. “Is...uhm, is everything okay?”

His response was a choked laugh. “Well, that depends on your point of view,” he said. “He’s dead.”

Serena gasped. “Shit!” she exclaimed, then winced. “I, uhm...well, normally in this situation I’d say I was sorry, but…”

Cam sighed. “I know. It’s awful to say this, but I’m glad. He was an awful man and a worse father. But…”

“Bernie,” Serena said, nodding.

“She’s taking it hard,” he replied. “Can you...we’re just leaving the hospital now, maybe you could come round? It’ll be good for her to see you.”

Serena glanced back at Marjorie. “Just a second,” she said, then held the phone against her chest to cover the mouthpiece. “Marjorie?” she hissed. “Are you okay to stay this morning? Bernie’s dad’s died.”

Her sister rolled over. “Yeah,” she said sleepily. “I’m not working tomorrow. Well, today. Take as long as you need.” She frowned. “Give her my love, won’t you?”

Serena smiled sadly. “I will. Thanks, love,” she murmured, then put the phone to her ear again. “I’ll be right over, Cam.”

It took her five minutes to pull on the clothes she’d so recently discarded and head out onto Fulham Palace Road to hunt down a cab. There was nothing on the street right away so she hunched her shoulders against the early morning chill and walked up towards the hospital where she knew there’d be at least one cab at the rank.

She had to wait for ten minutes on the steps of Bernie’s flat before a cab drew up and Cam, Bernie, their mother and Dom clambered out. Bernie took a moment to spot her, but when she did it was like a dam had burst. She rushed towards her and threw her arms around her, burying her face in her neck. There were no tears, but Serena could feel the tension of holding them back in every muscle. She patted her on the back. “There, there,” she murmured helplessly. “It’s all right, darling. It’s all right.” 

She helped her inside, depositing her on the sofa next to her mum before heading to the kitchen to make tea. She rolled her eyes a little at how British she was being. Had a bad day? Tea. A bit of a shock? Tea. Abusive father dropped dead just after you stood up to him for the first time in your life? Tea, maybe with a couple of sugars.

“Thanks for coming,” Cam murmured from beside her.

She inclined her head. “She needs me,” she replied softly. “So here I am.”

He patted her on the elbow, then picked up a couple of the mugs and helped her carry them back to the living room where Bernie and her mum were sitting slightly huddled together. “Here you are, love,” Serena said, pressing the mug into Bernie’s hands. 

For long minutes the five of them sipped without speaking, each of them staring at their own indeterminate points in the middle distance. At last, Jocasta sucked in a breath.

“I’m not sorry,” she said. Serena looked up and watched the older woman, her eyes flicking between her and Bernie. “I know that sounds terrible. You children know what he was like, of course. Perhaps you two do as well.” She looked at Serena and Dom, who both nodded solemnly. Jocasta shook her head. “I loved him once, a very long time ago. Or at least, I loved what I thought he was. But when he was dying, all I could think was... _ I’m free.  _ Is that terrible?”

Cameron put down his tea and knelt in front of his mother. “No,” he said. “It’s just true. We’re all free now.” He took his mum’s hand in one of his, Bernie’s in the other. “All of us.”

Bernie just frowned and didn’t reply.

Later, when Jocasta was set up in the same spare room Serena had stayed in on her first night in this flat, and Dom and Cam were safely in their own bed, Serena took Bernie by the hand and led her to her room. Silently, she found a pair of well worn grey cotton pyjamas and helped Bernie into them, then tucked her into bed. Bernie watched her through hooded eyes. 

Serena smiled tightly. “There,” she said. “I...uhm...I can go now, if you…” She trailed off, busying herself fiddling with Bernie’s duvet, smoothing it around her sides.

“You’re...you’re not staying?”

Serena blinked. “Do you...do you want me to?”

“Of course.”

Her voice sounded so small and lost that Serena felt her heart ache. Without another word, she got herself ready for bed then slipped in beside Bernie. Opening her arms, she pulled Bernie close, letting her rest her head on her shoulder. Bernie’s hand wrapped automatically around her waist and she draped a leg over Serena’s with a sigh. Serena trailed her fingers through her hair, pressing the occasional kiss against her forehead as they lay there, breathing together in the dark.

“I’ll have to take a leave of absence from the show,” Bernie murmured at last. Serena’s hand stilled in her hair.

“Yes, I suppose so,” she said, then smiled a little. “I suppose I’ll be singing with Zosia for a while.”

Bernie nuzzled against her neck. “Maybe go back to the scripted ending with her, hmm?”

Serena arched one eyebrow. “I certainly don’t go around kissing work colleagues as a matter of course.”

A tiny laugh escaped from Bernie’s lips. She turned her face towards Serena’s, meeting her eyes. “I should hope not,” she said, then leaned up and pressed a soft kiss against Serena’s unresisting mouth.

Serena smiled. “I think Jac would kill me anyway,” she murmured against Bernie’s lips.

Bernie kissed her once again, then nuzzled into her neck. “I’ll have to help mother organise the funeral,” she said tiredly. Serena could feel her relaxing against her, the tension releasing from her body as she slid towards sleep. “Would you...would you come to Holby, maybe? For the service?”

Serena didn’t even have to think. “Whatever you need, my darling.”

* * * * *

The day of the funeral dawned cold and damp, the skies over London grey and drizzly. “Lucky we’re going out of town,” Serena remarked to Dom as they got on the train at what Serena described as the ungodly hour of six thirty in the morning, but in fact the miserable weather stretched every one of the hundred and twenty miles between London and Holby. They both slept for most of the journey. Years of working into the late evening in the theatre had turned them both into night owls who hated early mornings with a passion. They’d performed in  _ Wicked  _ the night before, in fact, and had managed no more than four hours sleep each before heading to Paddington for their train.

They got a cab from the station to what Serena had been mentally calling The Manor. It wasn’t quite as grand as she’d feared - not quite Downton or anything - but it was still the biggest house she’d ever seen. “Serena, Dominic,” Jocasta said when she answered the door, opening her arms for each of them in turn. “Thank-you both for coming.”

“Of course,” Serena replied, patting the older woman’s elbow.

“Bernie’s in the drawing room,” she said, nodding towards a panelled door.

Serena found her sitting at the piano, absently playing something in a minor key. She was already in her funeral clothes - black tailored trousers, a white button down shirt and a black fitted jacket. Her hair had been straightened and was scraped back into a ponytail.

She looked up and smiled a tiny little smile when she caught sight of Serena. Serena smiled back as she slid onto the piano stool beside her. Without speaking or agreeing on anything, they found themselves playing a slow version of  _ Heart and Soul,  _ their thighs and sides pressed together. They stayed together, playing random songs in silence, until it was time to go to the churchyard.

“He wanted the most old-fashioned service possible,” Bernie explained as they walked. “Like something out of Dickens. It was in his will.”

Serena glanced at her. “I suppose your mum inherits everything,” she said. To her surprise, Bernie let out a hollow, humourless laugh.

“No, actually,” she said. “He left everything to me. She’s to have the right to stay in the house for the rest of her life and a small stipend, administered by me.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why I was surprised. Even from beyond the grave he’s trying to control her.”

Serena blinked. “Is it binding?”

Bernie shook her head. “God no. Well, the bit about the house probably means we can’t sell it, but there’s nothing stopping me from dividing the other assets any way I choose. Even after the death duties, there’s more than enough to give mum a comfortable life and let Cam go back to university and buy himself a house without a mortgage.” She shrugged.

“What about you?” Serena said.

Bernie shook her head. “I don’t want his money,” she said. “But if I don’t take my third then Cam’ll refuse to take his, so...” She took a deep breath. “Maybe I’ll give it away.”

Serena’s eyes bulged. “You’ll do no such thing,” she said. “You’ll buy a house and secure your future. This career doesn’t last forever you know.”

Bernie winced. “How can I?” she said. “Every room would remind me of him. How I-” She broke off, snapping her mouth shut and looking away. Serena stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“How you what?” she said. She pinned Bernie with her gaze, her eyes following her when she tried to look away.

Bernie swallowed hard. “I killed him,” she choked out, her eyes filling with tears.

“Oh, love,” Serena murmured, gathering Bernie up in her arms. She caught Cameron’s eye over her shoulder and shook her head when he looked like he was about to come over. He paused, then nodded and led his mum and Dom on towards the churchyard. 

“Bernie,” she said when they were quite alone. “Listen to me. You did not kill him. Years of smoking cigars and drinking whisky like water killed him. He would have had that heart attack anyway, no-matter what.”

Marjorie had explained to her that a massive heart attack like that would have been on the cards regardless of what anyone did. She’d suggested that a severe shock probably hadn’t helped, but Serena didn’t think Bernie needed to know that.

“I hated him,” Bernie sniffed. “But…”

“But he was your father,” Serena finished for her. She nodded. “I know.” She held Bernie tightly for another minute, then patted her on the back and pulled away. “Come on,” she said. “It’s time to go.”

Bernie tangled their fingers together and they walked the rest of the way to the entrance of the churchyard hand in hand. Lord Wolfe was to be interred in the family mausoleum, where five generations of his family had gone before him. Serena had asked Bernie a few days before who would inherit the title. She’d assumed Cam would become the new Lord Wolfe, but apparently inheritance rights in the nobility hadn’t yet caught up to the modern world and Cam wouldn’t be recognised. Serena supposed he wouldn’t have wanted it anyway, but it still seemed grossly unfair to her. Apparently there was a distant male relative somewhere, but no-one had been able to trace him. For now, at least, the ancient title was extinct.

“Good,” Bernie had said. “He was always so concerned with the family name. Let it die with him.”

One or two people from the golf club appeared at the funeral, along with the local mayor and a silent figure that Bernie identified as a representative from Buckingham Palace. “He was the Queen’s fourth cousin twice removed or something,” she muttered. “I think we’re descended from some ancient royal’s illegitimate love child.”

“So that crack Dom made about you being in the line of succession is actually true,” Serena whispered back. Bernie just smiled and squeezed her fingers a little tighter.

When it looked like no-one else was going to turn up, the vicar began the ceremony. It was a morose funeral: not that any funeral was a laugh a minute, but the palpable lack of love towards the deceased - combined with the damp weather and paltry congregation - made this one particularly miserable. 

“I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live,” the vicar intoned.

_ I bloody hope not,  _ Serena thought. She had tried to feel bad that the man was dead. She’d failed. The only regret she had was that Bernie had been hurt, that she was blaming herself for something that had been completely inevitable.

When it was over, Bernie hung back at the graveside. “I’ll stay with her,” Serena murmured to Cam when he came up to them. 

“Thanks,” he said, patting her on the elbow before heading back with Dom and his mother, his arm around her shoulders.

Serena stood close to Bernie, shivering a little and wrapping her coat round herself. She nodded towards the dedication stone on the side of the mausoleum listing the members of the family that were interred there along with a brief line of commemoration. “Have you decided what you’ll write there?”

Bernie seemed to consider the idea. “How about:  _ ‘those he commands move only in command, nothing in love’ _ ?”

Serena arched an eyebrow. “You know most actors are a bit superstitious about quoting that particular play.”

Bernie let out a sound that might have been a laugh at some point in its evolution but didn’t really end up like one. “Yeah,” she said. “Well. I’ll probably just quote some meaningless biblical platitude.” She shrugged, then turned to face her. “Thank-you for being here.”

“Of course,” Serena murmured, reaching out to wrap her arms round Bernie’s waist. “Whatever you need, darling. Always.”

They were alone in the churchyard, surrounded by headstones, protected from the drizzle of the day by the overhanging branches of an old sycamore tree. Bernie’s eyes were damp as she gazed into Serena’s but they slid closed as she leaned forward. Serena tilted her face up to meet her and their lips collided in a soft, gentle kiss. Serena expected Bernie to move away when it was over, but she didn’t. Instead, she slid her hands up Serena’s arms to her shoulders, pulling her close as she tilted her face to the side and kissed her again. 

“I can’t believe I’m kissing a girl by my father’s grave,” Bernie gasped against Serena’s slightly parted lips when they broke away at last.

Serena rested her forehead against Bernie’s. “Oh darling,” she whispered, a sardonic smile tugging her lips upwards. “I hope he’s spinning in it.”

* * * * * 

The afternoon wore on grimly and relentlessly. None of the mourners from the churchyard had come back to the house with them, so in the end the gathering after the funeral was attended by just the five of them. Jocasta, Cameron and Bernie spent some of the day in Lord Wolfe’s study discussing the disbursement of the inheritance, but the majority of the time was spent awkwardly consuming vol-au-vents and little quarter sandwiches the cook had prepared in expectation of a better turn out.

“When will you be going back to work, you two?” Jocasta asked Serena and Dom.

“Tomorrow,” Dom answered for them both. “Hanssen was very understanding and everything, but one day was the best he could do. Jac, Zosia and Ollie are on for us tonight.”

“I’ll be back in a couple of days,” Bernie said.

Serena squeezed her hand. They’d spent most of the day either holding hands or standing close to each other, like both of them were trying to make sure the other was still there. “Are you sure? I don’t think Hanssen would want you rushing back into things.”

Bernie smiled. “It’s all right,” she said. “I want to work. I just need to tie a few things up here.”

They were all flagging by nine o’clock. It had been a very long and exhausting day for everyone; not physically perhaps, but emotionally. Jocasta excused herself to go to bed, which was all the permission the younger generation needed to do the same.

Bernie’s room was on the second floor at the end of a long hallway. Cam’s room was far away at the other end and Jocasta was on another floor altogether. It seemed very isolated to Serena, who was used to living practically on top of her relatives. Even her childhood home - before her mother had stopped paying the mortgage and let it get repossessed - was a simple three-bed semi. 

“Here we are,” Bernie said, walking over the threshold and sweeping her arms round the room. “My home away from boarding school.” She smirked, expecting Serena to make some humorous remark, but the other woman was silent. Frowning, she turned round to see what had distracted her.

Serena was still in the hallway, staring at the door with a look of horror on her face. “What’s that?” she asked, her voice thin.

Bernie’s frown deepened. “What’s what?” she said, then realisation dawned. “Oh, that.” She shrugged. “Father liked to know we were where he left us.”

Serena stepped forward and ran her hand over the deadbolt screwed to the outside of Bernie’s bedroom door. She thought she was going to be sick. “He’d lock you in here?” she whispered, tears in her eyes. “Oh, Bernie…” She shook her head, a sudden determination overtaking her. “Where would I find a screwdriver in this house?” she asked.

Bernie shook her head. “Serena, it’s fine,” she began, but Serena cut her off with a finger on her lips.

“My love,” she whispered fiercely. “I am not letting you spend one more night in this room with that thing on the door. Not one more night, do you hear me?”

Slowly, Bernie nodded. Five minutes later Serena returned from the utility room and made swift work of the bolt, unscrewing it quickly and efficiently. She sighed when the job was done, thinking of all the lonely, frightened nights Bernie must have spent in this room as a child. She couldn’t bear it. She wanted to blot it out, to erase it all somehow.

Within seconds she had Bernie in her arms and was kissing her and clinging to her like she was drowning and Bernie was her life raft. “I love you,” she murmured against her lips, pushing her back towards the bed. Bernie’s knees hit the mattress and she fell back, Serena following after her in a tangle of limbs.

“Serena,” Bernie breathed, but Serena didn’t let her continue.

“Let me take care of you,” she said, pressing kisses against her jaw, her cheek, the pale column of her throat. “Please.”

After a moment Bernie nodded breathlessly and Serena felt a rush of triumph thrill through her. It was the work of moments to help Bernie out of her clothes and lie her back among the pillows. Bernie watched her, eyes dark and hooded with desire, as Serena slowly stripped off her own clothes, letting them pool on the floor before she climbed back onto the bed and pressed their bodies together.

“I’m going to take such good care of you,” she whispered before capturing her lips in a wet, open-mouthed kiss of mingled desperation and love. 

Bernie’s fingers curled round Serena’s waist and gripped tightly. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered into her gasping mouth. “So beautiful, Serena.”

They kissed and kissed, their hands stroking through each other’s hair, over the smooth planes of their backs, the trembling muscles of their stomachs. When Serena’s fingers dipped lower she found Bernie more than ready, her hips rising in pure instinct to meet her lover’s touch.

“May I?” Serena breathed, her fingers hovering over Bernie’s trembling thigh. 

“Yes,” Bernie gasped. “Serena, please…”

Serena had no interest in teasing her. Capturing her lips in a kiss, she slipped her fingers into soft, wet heat, gasping in wonder at the sensation of being inside the woman she loved. Bernie whimpered into her mouth, her hips rolling in a stuttering rhythm that became more and more sure as the minutes passed.

“Is this okay?” Serena murmured in her ear. “Tell me what you like, darling. Tell me what you need.”

Bernie threw her head back against the pillows, her whole body straining upwards. Serena took the opportunity to paint a series of kisses from the edge of her jaw to her beautiful collarbones. She got distracted there for a moment, worshipping Bernie’s body with her lips. Her head dipped lower and Bernie’s fingers buried themselves in her hair as she took the nipple of her left breast into her mouth, twirling her tongue round the stiff peak. Bernie released a deep, slow moan into the stillness of the room.

“Is this what you like?” Serena whispered against her chest as she kissed her way across to the other breast. Her fingers maintained their rhythmic pressure between her legs as they moved together, their curves meshing together like they’d been made to.

“Yes,” Bernie managed to force out. She thought that she’d like anything at all with Serena, that the actual actions were secondary to the woman she was with. “Serena…”

After that she couldn’t stop herself from repeating Serena’s name over and over, each breathless repetition building her up to higher and higher peaks. She had no idea how much time had passed - seconds? Minutes? Hours? - before, trembling beneath her loving caresses, she fell apart in Serena’s arms, gasping and moaning half-formed words into the quiet of the room. Serena kissed her forehead and cheeks as she shuddered beneath her, her eyes closing against sudden tears as she felt every last twitch and throb against her fingertips.

Bernie floated for a moment in the haze of the afterglow, free of thought and worry for a few precious instants. This was right, she thought dreamily. This was where she was supposed to be.

Then she opened her eyes and saw the familiar patterns and tiny cracks of the ceiling of her childhood bedroom. She exhaled a shaky breath before Serena lifted her head and filled her vision, an expression of such pure, devoted love on her face that it made a lump form in her throat and tears prick behind her eyes.

“Let’s sleep now,” Serena said gently, stroking her damp knuckles over Bernie’s cheek.

Bernie frowned. “What about you?” she protested weakly, but Serena shook her head.

“I have everything I need,” she said. 

Bernie curled up against her side when they were both under the duvet, her head on Serena’s shoulder and her arm around her waist. “I longed to hold you, you know,” she murmured against her neck. 

Serena tightened her embrace and kissed her forehead. “You can,” she said gently. “For as long as you like.”

_ Forever?  _ Bernie thought, but said nothing. Instead, she turned her face upwards for a kiss that lasted a few seconds longer than a chaste goodnight. The stress of the day ebbed away in the face of the pull of sleep, Serena’s gentle caresses soothing her now rather than inflaming her desire. Bernie tried to fight it, too entranced by the feeling of holding and being held by Serena, but in the end she couldn’t help but succumb. She didn’t know how many times she’d fallen asleep in this cold, lonely room. But tonight, for the first time, when she drifted away she felt...almost happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many people wanted Bernie's dad dead from about chapter seven onwards, and then when I actually had him drop everyone seemed to want him to live. I mean, I get why, but it still amused me. But yeah, he was marked for death since the start. I couldn't not use this chapter title.


	22. The Way You're Viewed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie and Serena begin to realise they have a fanbase hungrily speculating about their relationship.

_ You're gonna grin and bear it _  
_ Your new-found popularity _

“Auntie Serena?” Jason asked as they stood waiting outside the entrance to the zoo. “Is Bernie your girlfriend now?”

Serena opened her mouth, then snapped it shut again, because for all they’d kissed and held each other and made love, they’d never actually talked about defining what they were to each other. In the beginning Bernie was preoccupied with her father’s death and the funeral, but even now when she’d been back in London for over a week, they still hadn’t really discussed it.

“Because if she is I need to start a flowchart for her,” Jason went on, before Serena had decided what she was going to say.

Serena blinked. “Well,” she began slowly, “what would you think if she was?”

Jason shrugged. “I like Bernie,” he said. “She knows a lot about the World’s Strongest Man.”

A surprised laugh bubbled up from somewhere in her chest. “Really? I’d never have guessed.”

“Never have guessed what?” a familiar voice interjected. Serena turned round to see Bernie hurrying up to them, her cheeks a little pink. She looked like she’d been running. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, dropping a brief kiss on Serena’s cheek and holding her hand out for Jason to shake. He did so solemnly, then grinned.

Serena smiled, enjoying the little thrill of joy she always felt when she saw Bernie. “That you’re an aficionado of muscled men sweating while pulling on ropes.”

Bernie winked at her. “Big fan,” she said.

“Really? Who’s your favourite?”

“Tom Stoltman,” Bernie replied immediately. “He’s a rising star - I predict he’ll be a champion within five years.”

Jason’s eyes were dancing with delight. “He’s fantastic, Auntie Serena,” he said. “Bernie told me about him. He’s called The Albatross and he’s best at the Atlas Stones and he’s autistic, like me.” 

Serena glanced at Bernie who was looking down at Jason with a fond expression on her face. “He’s one of the best Juniors in the world, isn’t he Jason?”

Jason nodded. “He says that sport has helped him overcome his challenges,” he said. “Bernie says there are different ways of looking at every opportunity.”

Bernie was blushing now, hiding her eyes with her fringe. Serena hadn’t thought it was possible to love her any more than she already did. She’d been wrong. She wondered, for a moment, if she’d ever stop falling in love with this woman, if she’d ever find where this feeling ended. She hoped not.

“Shall we go in?” Bernie said, coughing slightly.

Serena took pity on her. “Let’s,” she said. “We don’t want to miss the tropical bird tour.”

They headed over to the ticket booth - Bernie buying at her insistence - and into the zoo. An employee took their picture in front of a green screen and Serena made a mental note to buy the photo later. She had a frame at home that had been empty for a while.

“How long did you spend researching obscure strongmen?” she murmured close to Bernie’s ear. Jason was ten feet ahead of them, excited to get to the bird show in time for the presentation to start.

“Not long,” Bernie said. “A week at most.” She shrugged, smiling shyly. “I needed something to fill my time when I was away.”

Their hands brushed against each other as they walked. Bernie coughed slightly and moved minutely further away. Serena frowned. “Jason wants to add you to his flowcharts,” she said, trying to find Bernie’s eyes.

“His what?”

“Flowcharts,” Serena explained. “He makes notes on how the people in his life react to things he says and does. Sometimes he upsets people without knowing why, so last year he started making these flowcharts to help him understand people’s likely reactions to him.”

“Oh.” Bernie’s lips twitched in a smile. “That’s clever. So, uh...if he wants to do that for me then that means…”

“That he thinks you’ll be part of his life long term,” Serena said. Her frown deepened. “He asked if you were my girlfriend.”

“Oh!” Bernie shoved her hands in her pockets, hunching her shoulders a little. “What did you...I mean, what was your answer?”

Serena’s eyebrows arched. “Well, you and I haven’t talked about that yet.”

A flush rose on Bernie’s cheeks. “Right,” she murmured softly. “Of course.” She seemed to be concentrating very hard on watching where her feet were stepping. “Uhm...do you want to be?”

Serena’s eyes widened. She stopped in her tracks and paused until Bernie stopped too. She waited silently for Bernie to meet her eyes, which took longer than she’d expected. “Yes,” she said, when Bernie was finally looking at her. “Of course I do.”

The slow, shy, beautiful smile that spread over Bernie’s face was more than enough to erase the slight disquiet the last few moments had engendered. Serena smiled back, taking a step forward and resting her hands gently on Bernie’s forearms. “Do you?”

“Yes,” Bernie said softly. “I’d really, really like that.”

The moment was interrupted by the distinctive sound of a camera shutter somewhere nearby. Bernie’s head snapped up as she looked around for the source of the noise.

“Sorry!” 

A young woman in her early twenties standing about five feet away blushed, shoving her phone into her pocket. Bernie blinked, nonplussed. “Uhm...did you just take our picture?”

The woman blushed harder as she nodded. “Sorry,” she said again. “I didn’t want to bother you, but...you’re Bernie Wolfe, right? And Serena Campbell?”

It was Serena’s turn to blink stupidly. “Yes,” she said slowly. “Do we know you?”

The stranger seemed to have reached new heights of embarrassment. “Oh God, no...sorry. I look like a total stalker now, don’t I? I’m just...a huge fan of yours. Both of yours.”

Her words took a moment to sink in. “A fan?” Serena repeated. “Of mine?”

The young woman seemed to have decided she might as well go the whole hog. She stepped forward, smiling brightly. “Yes,” she said. “I saw your opening night the other week. It was amazing. The best night I’ve ever spent in the theatre.”

The young fan’s excitement was contagious. “Oh,” Serena said, delighted. “That’s wonderful to hear. Thank-you!”

Bernie wasn’t smiling. “Would you mind deleting that photo?” she said. “I’m happy to take a selfie with you, but I’d rather I knew I was in the picture when it was taken, if you see what I mean.”

The woman looked horrified. “Oh, of course!” she said, fumbling for her phone and scrolling to the offending photo. “Sorry! I didn’t want to bother you by asking.”

“It’s okay,” Bernie said, smiling tightly. “Do you want that selfie?”

The three of them posed together, the fan in the middle. After she’d gone and they were on the move again, Serena pursed her lips and frowned. “You were a bit abrupt with her.”

Bernie sighed deeply. “I didn’t want that picture all over twitter and tumblr,” she said. “It was a private moment. Fans can get...overinvested sometimes. It’s best to maintain a distance.”

Serena turned that response over in her mind. “Okay,” she said at last. It was fair enough, she supposed. Perhaps she’d feel the same one day about fans, when the novelty of actually having them had worn off.

* * * * *

After a very pleasant day together, in which they saw tigers, lions, gibbons and penguins (twice) the three of them caught the same bus from the zoo as far as Baker Street. Bernie got off there to connect to one onward bus and Serena and Jason set off to catch another. Bernie left them with a hug for her girlfriend - a thought she was still getting used to - and another handshake for Jason, who thanked her politely for his ticket and the zoo t-shirt, stuffed penguin and tiger keyring she’d bought him.

“You’ll spoil him,” Serena had murmured, somewhere between the candy floss and second visit to the gift shop.

“What’s the point of having money if you don’t spend it on people you care about?” Bernie had replied, earning herself a look of such exquisite fondness that she’d had to turn away.

She spent most of the bus ride home searching twitter for her name. She found quite a few tweets from people who’d seen her in _Wicked_ and more from people wondering why she’d been out of the show for so long. Interspersed with those, she found the people who were tweeting pictures - principally grainy shots taken inside the theatre of her and Serena kissing at the end of _For Good_. Her heart sank.

_ Can’t believe Bernie Wolfe and Serena Campbell made Gelphie canon,  _ read one tweet that had been retweeted nearly a thousand times.

Another, attached to a picture of her and Serena with a fan at the Natural History Museum, said:  _ Met Bernie Wolfe and Serena Campbell aka Glinda and Elphaba in Wicked (from next month.)  _ She recognised the image as the one she’d posed for the day she and Serena and Jason saw the blue whale skeleton and went to the cat cafe. This one had been retweeted quite a bit as well, especially in the last couple of weeks. There were threads of replies branching off it.

_ OMG, are they dating irl? _

_ I heard they broke up and that’s why Bernie’s been gone. _

_ Harold… _

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath, ignoring the old woman beside her who tutted at her language.

Next she found the picture she’d posed for today. It had only been up for four hours but already it had been retweeted nearly three hundred times. She scrolled through the list of accounts that had retweeted it, already beginning to recognise some of the handles.

_ Looks like they didn’t break up after all. _

_ I ship them so hard. _

_ I can’t decide if I ship them or Gelphie more. _

Her gut twisted itself into a knot. Was it so much to ask that she just be allowed to enjoy being with Serena? The back of her neck prickled uncomfortably, like she was being watched. She had to physically restrain herself from turning around to search for eyes on her.

It was a familiar sensation. The brief, clandestine relationships she’d had before had all felt like this. She’d been so careful all the time: trying not to be seen in public with them, avoiding touching them, scanning social media for mentions every day just in case. It had been because she was so afraid of it getting back to her father - at least, that was what she’d always assumed. But now Lord Wolfe was dead and she still felt panicked, like a child who thought they were about to be punished for some transgression.

Cam noticed she seemed preoccupied over dinner, so she wasn’t surprised when he followed her to her room afterwards. “Out with it,” he said, flopping down onto her bed and watching her pacing in front of the windows.

“How do you always know?” she grumbled, but without any bite to it.

“We shared a womb,” he replied, shrugging. “The day I can’t tell what you’re thinking, there’ll be something really wrong.”

Haltingly, she explained what had happened with the fan at the zoo, how jumpy she’d felt when she realised she and Serena had been photographed together, the way even before that she’d flinched away from holding Serena’s hand as they walked, how exposed she’d felt on the bus reading through all those tweets speculating about her and Serena’s relationship.

“If you think those are bad, you should see tumblr,” Cam remarked blandly. “You and Serena have quite the fandom on there.”

Bernie paled. “What?”

He shrugged. “Grainy gif sets and rampant speculation, mostly.” He pinned her with a soft expression. “They don’t mean any harm,” he said. “They’re just excited to see themselves reflected for once. You know how much representation matters when you’re young. You didn’t watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer for the plot, did you?”

Bernie blushed, remembering her teenage crush on Amber Benson and how she’d secretly recorded episodes of the show to binge when her father was out. “Yeah, I get it,” she said. “I’m just...it’s really quite uncomfortable being the focus of it, that’s all.”

Cam regarded her speculatively. “I don’t think that’s what this is about,” he said. “I think you’ve just spent so long hiding who you are that it’s become second nature.”

A denial sprang to her lips immediately, but she snapped her mouth shut and forced herself to consider the idea. She turned it over for a minute in her head, examining it from all angles. Her heart sank. “I’m not ashamed of who I am,” she said at last. “But of the hurt I’ve caused…”

“Who have you hurt?” Cam sat up, pinning her with a glare.

“Take your pick. Caroline? Alex? Marcus?” She hesitated. “Father.”

Cam held up his index finger. “Okay, one: if you hurt Caroline it was because you didn’t feel you could be out.” He added a second finger. “Two: if you hurt Alex it was  _ because you didn’t feel you could be out.”  _ He added a third finger. “Three-”

“Okay, I get it,” she interrupted.

“Do you? Because the last item on your list was our monster of a father.”

Bernie squirmed. “I came out and he dropped dead.”

“And those two things were not connected.” He stood up and crossed the floor to stand in front of her, forcing her to stand still and look at him. “His heart failed because he was unhealthy. The surgery to save him failed because he had a left ventricular pseudoaneurysm. There was nothing you did that caused it and nothing you could have done to stop it.” His lips quirked in a half smile. “Trust me,” he said. “I’m a doctor.”

A small smile curled Bernie’s lips upwards. “Not yet you’re not, sunshine.”

He inclined his head. “Semantics. Because he died, I get to go back to uni. Should I feel guilty about that?”

“No, of course not.”

Cam nodded. “No,” he agreed. “And because he’s dead, you get to be out and live your life and love Serena. Don’t feel guilty about that either.”

Bernie’s eyes slid closed. He rested his hands on her shoulders, steadying her, being there for her like he always had. She sighed. “Okay,” she said at last. “I want to, Cam. I want to give her the life she deserves, so much.”

He shook his head and paused, waiting for her to open her eyes so he could be sure she was taking in his advice. “Talk to her, Bernie. Tell her how you’re feeling. She can’t read your mind.”

A choked laugh escaped her throat. “No, that’s your job, right?”

He winked. “And don’t you forget it.”

When he was gone, she took a deep steadying breath and pulled out her phone.  _ Can I come round? _ she texted, then waited for the grey ellipsis that would indicate a reply being typed. She didn’t have to wait long.

_ You can’t keep away, can you? ;-) _

Bernie smiled.  _ Can I help it if you’re just that alluring? _

Serena’s reply was, again, nearly instantaneous.  _ I suppose not. Of course you can come round. I never get enough of seeing you. _

Bernie bit her lip as she tapped out her next message.  _ Can I stay the night? _

_ Yes please,  _ came the swift reply. She laughed as she grabbed a change of clothes and her toothbrush and shoved them into a bag.

“I’m going to Serena’s,” she called as she passed the living room door.

From the sofa, his head resting on Dominic’s chest as they lay tangled together watching TV, Cameron grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Visual aids for the zoo [here](https://imgur.com/a/SikKa)!
> 
> And here is [an interview with strongman Tom Stoltman.](http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-scotland-highlands-islands-40935061)
> 
> The idea of Jason making flowcharts to help him understand other people is inspired by one of my favourite video game journalists Laura Kate, who [used this method](http://letsplayvideogames.com/2017/02/majoras-mask-social-flow-charts-and-aspergers/) to help her when she was growing up.


	23. Defying Gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanssen has a request to make of Bernie and Serena that will have an impact on more than just the show.

_Too long I've been afraid of_  
_Losing love I guess I've lost!_  
_Well, if that's love_  
_It comes at much too high a cost!_

  
Serena didn’t think she’d ever get tired of waking up next to Bernie. When her lovers had stayed the night in the past, she’d sometimes found their presence cloying or suffocating, needing to slide to the edge of the bed to maintain a certain amount of distance as she slept. But she and Bernie slept together like a litter of puppies - all tangled limbs and warm sighs and sleepy wriggles. She was in love with the feeling of being with her.

Seeing her last night had been an unexpected treat. Going to the zoo with Jason was nice, obviously, but it didn’t compare to spending time alone with Bernie. She was always so much more warm and tender and loving when they were alone - something Serena had wondered about, until last night. When Bernie had hesitantly explained how she was feeling - her discomfort about being out, her lingering uneasiness with scrutiny - it had all made perfect sense. A lifetime of hiding and fear and self-loathing didn’t go away in a couple of weeks, no-matter how much everyone concerned might want it to. Love wasn’t enough to solve all of Bernie’s problems.

But, Serena mused as she extricated herself from Bernie’s embrace and headed for the bathroom, it could  _ help. _

“It’s not that I don’t  _ want _ to be out in public,” Bernie had explained, holding Serena’s hands in hers as they sat together on the couch. “There’s just this...thing inside me that freezes up in terror when I think that people might find out. It’s...it’s nothing to do with you. I’m not ashamed of you, Serena. It’s myself.”

Serena had ached for the pain Bernie was in, and seethed with loathing for the father that had caused it and was still causing it, even from beyond the grave.

“I know, darling,” she’d said, squeezing her hands. “Look, we can go at your pace. We don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with. I don’t need you to stick your tongue down my throat in the middle of Oxford Street to know how you feel about me.”

Bernie’s lips had quirked in a sardonic smile. “Well, that’s probably a bit far, but...I’d like to hold your hand? If that’s okay?”

Serena’s smile had been wide enough to light up her whole face.

She took a detour to the kitchen before returning to the bedroom with two cups of strong coffee. When she arrived Bernie was awake, staring at a message on her phone with a frown. “What time’s Theresa coming today?” she asked. 

Theresa was Adrienne’s new evening carer. She hadn’t needed one when Serena had been in rehearsals but now that she worked nearly every night until late, Carol - who only worked office hours - was not enough.

“Five o’clock,” Serena said. “Why?”

Bernie nodded at her phone. “Hanssen wants us to come in a bit early for a talk,” she said, frowning.

Serena set Bernie’s mug down on the bedside table and fumbled for her own phone. Sure enough, she had the same message. “Hmm,” she mused, then looked up at Bernie’s still frowning face. “Don’t look so worried, darling. What exactly do you think’s going to happen?”

Bernie could think of a lot of things - sacking from the show, a dressing down about some deficiency in her performance, news that since she’d taken over the role ticket sales were down and she’d need to take a pay cut - but none of them would apply to Serena, who was wonderful in every way. She was dimly aware that the things she was thinking were ridiculous and catastrophising, but that awareness wasn’t enough to stop ever more unlikely scenarios from spinning around her head like shrapnel. 

“I’ll have to ask Marjorie to come round for an hour or so before Theresa arrives,” Serena was saying, effortlessly interrupting Bernie’s cycle of paranoia. She glanced at Bernie, her dark eyes twinkling. “Do you want to spend the day with me?” she asked.

Bernie smiled, putting her worries to one side. “The answer to that question will always be yes.”

It was a perfect day. Adrienne was having one of her increasingly rare good spells and spent the day regaling Bernie with stories about Serena and Marjorie as children, about Jason being born, about her life with her husband. Serena was glowing with delight. She had her dream job, she had Bernie, her mother was having a good day - there was nothing that could bring down her mood. Bernie found it was infectious, and by the time they were ready to head to the theatre for their meeting with Hanssen she realised that she was feeling almost positive about it.

“I suppose if it was something really bad he wouldn’t be telling us about it right before a performance,” she mused as they pulled on their coats.

“That’s the spirit, love,” Serena said absently, wrapping a scarf round her neck.

Out on the street, Serena eyed Bernie speculatively as they walked. She wasn’t sure how far she should push things on the public intimacy front. It would be hard for Bernie at first, she knew. She’d find it awkward and strange, no doubt. She coughed, and turned her hand slightly, palm facing out. “It’s turning cold, don’t you think?” she said softly. “I think my fingers might turn blue.”

She waited, holding her breath, for Bernie’s response. For a long moment she said nothing, then she glanced down at Serena’s open palm and smiled. “Can’t have that,” she murmured, and slipped Serena’s hand into hers.

Serena’s heart flushed with pride and love. “Indeed,” she said, her voice a little choked. She coughed to clear the lump from her throat. “Is this all right?”

Bernie squeezed her hand tight. “It’s all right,” she said, and smiled.

* * * * *

Despite the earliness of the hour, a small clump of die-hard fans was waiting outside the stage door. They all looked very young, Bernie thought, sure there wasn’t one of them over twenty in the bunch. She slowed her walk when she spotted them, her hand in Serena’s going a little limp. Serena looked up and saw what was waiting for them and made to draw her hand away.

“No, don’t,” Bernie said in a rush, swallowing hard. She stopped walking and turned to Serena, taking strength and comfort from her steady gaze. “I’m okay if you are.”

Serena smiled. “You’re okay, I’m okay,” she said. “The world can go round.”

Bernie squeezed their joined hands one last time, squared her shoulders and began to walk towards the stage door again. The group of fans spotted them moments later, lighting up as they asked for autographs and selfies.

“No problem at all,” Serena gushed, still so enamoured with the novelty of having fans. She posed for selfies, signed programmes and t-shirts, laughed uproariously at all their jokes. Bernie was a little more reserved, sticking to posing and signing with a professional actress smile. 

After a minute, she became aware of a girl at the back of the crowd who wasn’t pushing forward. Her hands were crammed in her pockets and she seemed nervous, constantly looking over her shoulder, but drawn towards the group at the stage door almost against her will. Bernie caught her eye and smiled gently, a genuine smile this time. “Hello,” she called. “Did you want me to sign something?”

The girl smiled and shook her head. Bernie handed back the t-shirt she’d been scrawling her name on to a grinning fan and walked over to the girl. “What’s your name?” she asked gently.

“Uhm...Hayley,” the young fan replied. Bernie looked at her more closely. She had to be eighteen at the most. She looked like she’d come straight from school.

“Pleased to meet you, Hayley,” Bernie said. The rest of the group of fans were crowding round Serena now, seeming to have worked out that she was by far the better company of the two. But Hayley seemed pleased to be talking to Bernie, like she couldn’t believe her luck.

“Obviously you’re a fan of the show,” Bernie said. “Have you got tickets tonight?”

Shyly, Hayley shook her head. “No...I mean, I do love it,” she said. “I’ve listened to the cast recording so many times I know the songs off by heart, but...I’ve never actually seen it.” She shrugged. “My father...he doesn’t really approve of the theatre.”

Enlightenment began to dawn. “Ah,” Bernie said. “And I suppose he doesn’t know you’re here?” She nodded in understanding as Hayley shook her head. “And...perhaps he doesn’t approve of a few other things about you?”

The blush that covered the girl’s cheeks was all the answer she needed. She felt a sudden rush of empathy flow through her - this girl could have been her ten years ago. She watched as Hayley’s eyes flicked down to her hand, then to Serena. The girl wet her lips nervously. “Were you...uhm, were you and Serena holding hands just now?”

Bernie fought down the instinctive urge to close down, to excuse herself and bolt, to angrily declare that it wasn’t anyone’s business. “Yes,” she said instead, proud of the steadiness of her voice.

Hayley’s blush seemed to deepen, if that were at all possible. “Oh,” she breathed. “So are you two really…like, in real life…”

Bernie steadied herself with a glance towards Serena’s beautiful, glowing face. “Yes,” she said, and some of her love and pride must have carried, because Serena looked back at her and smiled.

“Oh, that’s so...so amazing,” Hayley was saying. Bernie forced her eyes away from her girlfriend and back onto her young fan. “You’re both so talented and so pretty, I-” Hayley grimaced as she snapped her mouth closed. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m not usually this weird.”

Bernie shook her head. “I don’t think you’re weird,” she said. “I think you’re a perfectly normal girl.” She stepped a little closer, lowering her voice until it carried no further than the circumference of their personal space. “I grew up with a father like yours,” she said gently. “So you can trust me when I say this. It’s not just a platitude, not from me.” She paused until Hayley looked up, meeting her eyes. “It gets better.” 

She smiled and waited until Hayley was able to speak again. “Thanks,” the girl said at last, her voice a little choked. “I’ll...I’ll remember that.”

Serena sidled up beside her. “You ready to go and see our glorious leader?” She smiled at Hayley, then looked at Bernie again, a question in her eyes.

“We have to go and talk to our director,” Bernie explained. “But it was lovely to meet you, Hayley.”

She slid her hand into Serena’s again, watching as Hayley’s eyes tracked her movement. The girl grinned, and Bernie felt something settle inside her, like the final piece of a jigsaw clicking into place and changing your perspective of the whole picture.

“Thanks,” Hayley replied, still smiling. “I’ll remember what you said.”

When she was gone and they were safely inside the theatre, Serena turned to Bernie with a question on her lips. Bernie cut her off with a kiss. “I’ll explain later,” she murmured.

* * * * *

“You’re probably wondering why I’ve asked to see you both,” Hanssen said, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he sat down behind his desk.

Bernie raised an eyebrow, wondering if all Swedes had a gift for understatement or if their director was just particularly talented at it. “You might say that,” she agreed placidly.

He picked up a tablet before elaborating further, making a few quick taps on its screen. “I wanted to have a talk about making some changes to your performance,” he said.

Bernie bristled at the implication. “Is there something wrong with what we’ve been doing?” she asked. Since her return to the show they had been playing the roles exactly to script with no impromptu additions. Perhaps they hadn’t achieved the thunderous applause of that first night, but Bernie wasn’t actually sure that had been real and not just an exaggeration of her memory mixed with her own pounding heart.

“Not at all, Ms Wolfe,” Hanssen soothed, passing over the tablet. “Perhaps this will explain.”

She took the tablet and held it so both she and Serena could read it. “What am I looking at?” Serena asked as Bernie scrolled through the text.

Hanssen explained. “It’s a report the producers and I have compiled based on social and traditional media contacts regarding the production,” he said. “As you can see, there is one item that comes up time and again.”

Bernie swallowed painfully. Her throat was suddenly dry as sandpaper. “Us,” she managed to croak. Serena looked at her sharply, frowning in concern.

“Indeed,” Hanssen went on. “As you’ll see, the response to your performance on opening night has been overwhelmingly positive.”

Bernie’s eyes scanned the screen, taking in the screenshotted tweets and blog headlines and survey data reports.  **_WICKED UK EMBRACES ‘GELPHIE’ SUBTEXT_ ** _ ,  _ read one headline. Another ran:  **_WICKED’S LONDON CAST BREATHES NEW LIFE INTO SHOW BY PLAYING TO LGBT FANS._ ** But the tweets were what attracted her attention most - message after message to the official Wicked UK account excited about the performance, thanking them for including the changes, talking about how nice it was to feel seen by such an important and beloved show. She thought of the girls she’d met by the stage door that night, of Hayley and her disapproving father.

“You want us to go back to the way we played it on opening night,” she said at last. “To play into this.”

Serena was still staring at her, her face troubled. Bernie kissing her on stage because of the emotion of the night, on the spur of the moment was one thing. This was quite another - it was exposing, it invited speculation and attention on a permanent basis. “Bernie,” she began. “If you’re not comfortable-”

“I’ll do it,” Bernie interrupted. She glanced at Serena, taking in the concern and surprise on her face. “I know what you’re thinking, and I appreciate your concern for my feelings more than I can say,” she began. “But it’s time for me to stop hiding. It means so much to these people.” She gestured towards the tablet with its page of tweets. “And the people we met tonight. People like…” She trailed off, then took a deep breath before continuing. “People like me.”

Serena’s expression had become more and more gentle as she listened. Her eyes were filled with love and pride as she took Bernie’s hand. “People like  _ us, _ darling,” she said softly, and smiled. “My beautiful, brave girl.”

Hanssen’s slight cough reminded them they weren’t alone. “Very good,” he said as they turned towards him, the hint of a rare smile on his lips. “If you require some additional rehearsal time…”

Their laughter in response to that suggestion dripped with amused irony. “Uh, no,” Serena said. “I’ve practised kissing this woman a fair bit already.”

Hanssen inclined his head. “I suspected as much.” He glanced at Serena, then back at Bernie. “Congratulations.”

Bernie’s smile was wide and unrestrained and free. “Thank-you.”

Tonight, she would play opposite the woman she loved in the role of a lifetime. She would kiss her at the end and take her bow, knowing she’d made a lot of people like her very happy. Then she’d get to go home with Serena, her  _ girlfriend,  _ and live a life with her: a life of waking up together and drinking coffee in bed and visiting supermarkets and bickering over the remote control; a life that for years she’d thought was out of her reach.

The shadow her father had cast was long, and she knew she wasn’t over everything yet. But for now, sitting with Serena’s hand in hers, she felt light and free, like she could overcome anything.

Hanssen took back the tablet as they rose to go. “Oh,” he said absently, just as they reached the door. “There was just one more thing…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another cliffhanger! Sort of. It's nothing bad, I promise! I wouldn't do that to you at this late stage.


	24. A Handprint on my Heart (reprise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie and Serena promote the show on TV and talk about all that online speculation.

_I've heard it said_  
_That people come into our lives for a reason_  
_Bringing something we must learn_  
_And we are led_  
_To those who help us most to grow_  
_If we let them_  
_And we help them in return_

“How did I let you talk me into this?”

Three days had passed since Hanssen had called them to his little meeting - three days of tweaking the performance each night, playing up to the subtext, kissing at the end of the final duet. To Bernie’s surprise, it wasn’t as awkward or forced as she’d feared it might be. That first performance on opening night had been unique, singular, and the succeeding ones couldn’t hope to match it. But, as the days had passed, they’d realised that they didn't need to. The performance was its own entity now, and it felt far more like Elphaba and Glinda flirting and kissing than Serena and Bernie. 

The response had been as warm and excited as Hanssen had hoped. He’d encouraged them both to get a presence on social media so they were now the owners of two shiny new twitter accounts. Serena had already proven herself to be a prolific tweeter, with fifty tweets to her name in the two days they’d had the accounts. Bernie had tweeted once.

_ Will be on the @JayneGraysonShow with @serenacampbell this Saturday talking @WickedUK and #Gelphie. _

That had been Hanssen’s little parting gift on Monday - the news that they’d been invited on BBC1s flagship Saturday night talk show. Bernie had balked, a refusal springing automatically to her lips. But Serena had just squeezed her hand and said that it sounded like tremendous fun, and that was that. They were doing it.

“I don’t recall talking you into anything,” Serena replied blandly. “I think I actually just accepted on your behalf and then later promised to reward you with sex.”

Marjorie and Jason were staying over with Adrienne that night. Meanwhile, Dom and Cam were taking advantage of Dom’s night off to head up to Holby for a visit. Since his father’s death, Cam had spent as much time with his mother as possible. The confluence of these events meant that Bernie and Serena would have the whole of Bernie’s flat to themselves all night, for the first time ever.

Bernie’s furious blush was enough to set off Serena’s giggles. “Serena,” Bernie hissed. “That is not an appropriate green room conversation.”

“Oh lighten up, darling,” Serena said, running her hand over the tense muscles of Bernie’s forearm. “There’s no-one else here.”

Jayne Grayson, the host of the show, had been in earlier to chat about the interview and what kind of things might come up. She’d explained that the production had sent across some video of the previous night’s performance and that they’d be showing clips and talking about their careers and the show in general before getting into the meat of the story. 

“I understand your father died recently,” Jayne had said to Bernie, her face serious and sympathetic. “If you’d rather we avoided that topic…”

“Oh! No, it’s fine,” Bernie had replied, a little flustered. “I don’t mind.”

Bernie was picking at her thumbnail absently. “D’you think it’ll be much longer?”

Serena eyed her speculatively before placing a hand on hers to still her nervous movements. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m sorry...I didn’t realise you’d be so anxious about this. You’ve always seemed so...confident. I mean, in your professional abilities.”

A wry smile stole over Bernie’s face. “Ah, well Serena, I’m not sure how to break this to you,” she said, leaning forward as if to impart a secret. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m an actress.”

Serena threw her head back and laughed, drawing Bernie’s attention to the pale column of her throat and making her think how much she’d rather be at home kissing Serena’s neck, making her whimper and squirm.

“Uhm…”

Both their heads snapped round to the doorway where a nervous looking production assistant was hovering, looking like she was worried she’d interrupted a private moment. “Ms Grayson’s ready for you now…”

Serena was on her feet in a second. “Excellent!” she said, then held her hand out to help Bernie up. “Come along, Ms Wolfe. No going back now.”

By the time they were under the studio lights, Bernie had had enough time to put on her actress persona. She’d never been on television before but at least it wasn’t live to the nation. The Jayne Grayson show was filmed a couple of days in advance in front of a live audience so perhaps that would make it familiar enough that she’d be able to get through it without too much trouble. And anyway, she had Serena beside her, and Serena could charm anyone in any situation.

“You all right?” Serena murmured out of the corner of her mouth while Jayne Grayson read out a lengthy introduction to camera.

Bernie reached out and squeezed Serena’s fingers but before she could say anything Jayne finished their introduction and called their names. She dropped Serena’s hand and plastered what she hoped was a convincing smile onto her face as they crossed the studio to settle onto Jayne Grayson’s famous pink sofa next to her other guests - a musician and a novelist.

“Well, hello,” Jayne said. “It’s wonderful to have you both here.”

“It’s wonderful to be here,” Serena replied for them both, and then they were off.

It wasn’t so bad. Jayne stuck to professional topics and that was an area Bernie was more than comfortable with. She answered questions about her training, her early roles, her time on  _ Les Mis,  _ even volunteering information at times. Serena was just as forthcoming, sparkling with self-deprecating wit as she discussed her various minor roles over the years.

“If you saw the touring production of  _ Evita  _ back in 2009 you might have glimpsed me,” she said. “I was one of the disapproving English toffs that appeared in about two scenes, so I hope you didn’t blink.” She laughed along with the audience. “But more recently I was playing an incredibly minor role in  _ Cats _ when I got the chance to act up, as it were, and be Grizabella for two nights. The main performer of the role, Fleur Fanshawe, got food poisoning and it so happened that her stand-in, Nina Karnik, was struck down at the same time.”

“Rotten luck,” Jayne interjected.

“Indeed,” Serena agreed, but the twinkle in her eyes told Bernie there was a story there. “Anyway, I was the understudy.”

“Right, so the understudy plays the role if the main performer is ill?”

Bernie shook her head. “It would normally be the stand-in that does that,” she explained. “For important roles in big shows there’s more than one layer of backup in case of emergencies. An actor would be cast as a stand-in, which means they’re backstage every night, or most nights anyway, in case the main performer loses their voice or breaks a limb or something.”

“And does that happen often?”

“Occasionally,” Serena said, seamlessly picking up the conversational baton. “I heard of one night in a production of  _ Wicked  _ in San Francisco, I think, where the poor girl playing Elphaba lost her voice during the first act. Her Glinda was singing parts of  _ Defying Gravity  _ for her because she couldn’t get the notes out.” She shook her head, wincing in sympathy for her fellow actress. “So the stand-in went on for the second act.”

“But if the stand-in also can’t perform, that’s where the understudy comes in,” Bernie continued. “They would normally have their own minor role each night that can be either doubled up or just cut if they’re needed for the main performance.”

Jayne nodded in understanding. “Ah, so you had some other role in  _ Cats  _ when you got your big call up, did you?” she said to Serena.

Serena inclined her head. “Yes,” she said. “I played Electra, which is a role so tiny you literally wouldn’t know it was there.” She threw herself into an exaggerated cat pose. “Imagine this in the background for two hours. You now have my entire performance.” The audience laughed on cue and Bernie smiled fondly at her - she really was a natural at this. 

“So you’d have been tickled pink to get a chance at a main role, even if it was just for a couple of nights.”

“Indeed,” Serena agreed. “And as it happened, Angus Farrell, the casting director for  _ Wicked,  _ was in the audience on one of those nights and the rest is history.”

From there the conversation moved swiftly on to the show, their auditions, the rehearsal process. They both managed to include little details they thought might be interesting for an audience of laymen and in general the conversation seemed to be flowing rather well.

“Now, Bernie, I understand you had a bit of a break from the show after your opening night, is that right?”

Bernie forced herself not to flinch. She’d known the question was coming, after all. “Yes,” she said. “Unfortunately our opening night coincided with the death of my father, so I needed some time away to deal with some family business.”

Jayne’s face softened in sympathy. “I’m very sorry to hear that,” she said, but Bernie waved her concern away.

“It’s really quite all right,” she insisted. “We weren’t close. I’m just happy to be back at work now. I’m so lucky to have landed such a brilliant role with such a wonderful cast. More than a cast really - we’re like a little family, in some ways.” She smiled. “I know there’s been some online speculation about my absence from the show, so I hope that clears things up.”

Jayne grinned. “Speaking of online speculation,” she said, “that brings us nicely to a topic that’s been lighting up certain corners of the internet for the past few weeks.”

The screen behind her started filing with tweets and pictures and tumblr posts, all sharing the tag #Gelphie.

Serena laughed, effortlessly drawing attention away from Bernie and onto herself. Bernie took the moment to reset her emotions. The mention of her father had been harder than she’d expected it to be.

“Now, can one of you explain to those of us over forty what the heck Gelphie is?”

Serena grinned. “It’s a portmanteau. Like Brangelina, or TomKat, or Bennifer.”

“All your examples have broken up, you understand,” Bernie interjected.

Serena rolled her eyes. “Semantics,” she said. “Anyway, Gelphie is just Glinda and Elphie. It’s a handy shorthand for people who see a romantic subtext between the characters.”

Jayne nodded. “Well, you say subtext Serena,” she said, catching the eye of a production assistant who was waiting out of shot. “But I think it’s a bit more than that in your version of the show, isn’t it?”

A video began to roll on the screen behind Jayne. This was clearly the tape Hanssen had sent over of their performance the night before. They watched themselves singing the end of  _ For Good,  _ then their characters’ parting kiss. The audience in the theatre, and in the studio, applauded.

“So,” Jayne said, when the audience was quiet again. “I understand this interpretation of the performance is unique to London. What made you decide to go in this direction?”

Serena explained a little about the online fans and how important the representation was to so many people. She talked about Hanssen’s statistical analysis of the response to the opening night. “I think there was a graph in there that charted gayness against popularity,” she quipped.

“And of course, the implication’s already in the script,” Bernie added, then grinned. She jumped up and held out her hand for Serena to follow her.

“What are you doing?” Serena laughed, but she went with her gladly.

“Just a little demonstration,” Bernie said, still grinning. “You don’t mind, do you?” she asked Jayne.

“Oh, by all means, take over the show,” Jayne replied, and the audience laughed.

“Follow my lead,” Bernie whispered.

“Always do,” Serena whispered back.

Bernie positioned her on one side of the studio, about ten feet away, taking a moment to check with the camera operator that they were still in shot. Then she turned back to Serena and fixed with her with a heated, smouldering stare. Serena felt her heart rate increase automatically.

_ “What is this feeling, so sudden and new?” _ Bernie sang and Serena suddenly knew what she was up to. She smiled as she took a step forward.

_ “I felt the moment I laid eyes on you?” _ she replied.

_ “My pulse is rushing.” _ Step.

_ “My head is reeling.” _ Step.

_ “My face is flushing.” _ Step.

_ “What is this feeling?” _ They were right in front of each other now, staring deeply into each other’s eyes as they began to circle each other.  _ “Fervid as a flame,” _ they sang together.  _ “Does it have a name?” _

Bernie reached out and cupped Serena’s cheeks, pulling her face close to her own. Their lips were millimetres away from touching as they sang the last line. 

_ “Yes….it’s....” _

And then Bernie dropped her hands away from Serena’s face and turned to look at Jayne. “So, fill in the blank from there,” she said with an arched eyebrow and a smile. She began to return to her seat, but Serena stayed where she was, her lips pursed, as if she was still waiting for the kiss the song seemed to have promised. The audience laughed and that made her break character when she couldn’t stop herself from laughing with them.

Jayne had her hands up as if in surrender as they sat back down. “Okay, I see it,” she said, laughing. “So your director asked you to play up to this aspect of the characters, did he?”

Bernie inclined her head. “Well,” she admitted. “Not exactly. Not at first, at any rate.”

“Oh, so it was your own idea?” Jayne said, gesturing between her and Serena.

Bernie blushed and lowered her head a little. “Ah...well...not quite,” she said, then rolled her eyes at her own bashfulness. “The truth is, it was more of a spur of the moment thing on that first night.” She smiled. “I think I took Serena by surprise as well, actually.” She glanced at her girlfriend who was smiling fondly at her and felt her courage rise.

“So it was your idea, Bernie?” Jayne asked.

Bernie didn’t take her eyes off Serena. “Well,” she said.  _ “Idea _ implies a bit more conscious thought than actually went into it.” She took a breath. “The truth is, when that moment came...I wasn’t in character at all. I looked at Serena and I didn’t see Elphaba anymore. I just saw the woman I love.”

The audience erupted in hooting and whistling and applause, so Bernie missed Serena’s surprised gasp. She dropped her head, blushing furiously, her heart thudding almost painfully in her chest.

“I suppose that answers the questions I had about the rumours about the two of you,” Jayne said, making a big deal of throwing away a couple of question cards from the table beside her, making the audience laugh. “Are you all right Serena?”

Bernie looked up again to see tears shining in her girlfriend’s eyes, but she was smiling. “Oh! Yes, I’m fine,” Serena choked out, flapping her hands in front of her face in an effort to stop the tears from falling. “She’s just...she’s never actually said that before.”

Bernie looked stricken for a moment. “Haven’t I?” she said. “But you knew, didn’t you? You must have known.” She took Serena’s hand in hers. “I’ve loved you from the start.”

Serena gave up on trying to stop the tears. “Oh, come here you berk,” she said, pulling Bernie to her so she could hide her face in the crook of her neck. Any words that passed between them were drowned out by the studio audience’s thunderous applause.

* * * * *

“I’m beginning to think you’re an exhibitionist, Bernie Wolfe,” Serena murmured between kisses.

“Mmph,” Bernie protested, running her hands through Serena’s hair as she pressed her lips rapturously against her throat and collarbones. “I am not.”

Serena threw her head back to provide more access. “You kissed me on stage in front of thousands of people,” she said breathily. “You told me you love me for the first time on a TV show watched by millions. And we are currently - oh! - currently being very badly behaved in the back of a cab.”

Bernie raised her head from Serena’s heaving chest, eyes almost black with desire. “You’re right,” she managed to say eventually, taking in her surroundings and the cabbie trying very hard to keep his eyes on the road, despite the show going on behind him. “We really should wait until we get home.”

Serena groaned. “Not quite what I meant,” she murmured, leaning forward to kiss her girlfriend again.

Bernie stopped her with a finger on her lips. “Home,” she insisted, then turned to the driver. “I will tip you one hundred quid if you get us there within the next ten minutes.”

Nine minutes and forty-two seconds later they drew up outside Bernie’s Holland Road flat. Bernie dealt with the fare - plus tip - and then took Serena by the hand and led her to the door. It had barely closed behind them when Serena was on her again, pressing her against the nearest wall and kissing her like her life depended on it.

The interview with Jayne Grayson had lasted another few minutes after Bernie’s declaration, but neither of them remembered what they had been asked or what they’d said. Before either of them knew it they were being thanked by Jayne Grayson and her production team, leaving the studio and hailing a cab.

“I love you,” Bernie gasped when Serena broke the kiss at last. “I’m sorry I haven’t said it before.” She winced, struggling to put how she was feeling into words. “I would have chosen you,” she said eventually. “Even if he hadn’t...I would always have chosen you.”

Serena just smiled, her eyes bright. “I know, my darling.” She brushed a lock of messy blonde hair behind Bernie’s ear and leaned forward to kiss her again. “I love you too. So much.” She took a step back when the kiss ended and simply stared at her girlfriend, cheeks flushed, eyes dark and smouldering, and shuddered. She held out her hand. “Take me to bed?”

Bernie did not require a second invitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so here we are, nearly at the end. The next chapter will be an epilogue.
> 
> There are two things I want to point out.
> 
> 1) For this chapter I worked out the ratio of Catherine tweets to Jemma tweets. Catherine has tweeted approximately fifty times for every one tweet of Jemma’s. Obviously that had to make its way in there.
> 
> 2) Here is a quote from chapter 14:
> 
> _But there were some things she knew she couldn’t do. She couldn’t hold Serena’s hand out on the street. She couldn’t stand up to her father, tell him to go hang if he didn’t approve of her life. She couldn’t speak aloud the words that were screaming in the depths of her heart. Could she?_
> 
> YES, SHE COULD! ALL THREE OF THOSE THINGS! Woooooo! Is it wrong to be proud of her even though I'm the one that made her do it? lol


	25. Epilogue - Happy in the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two and a half years later, the cast of _Wicked_ perform together for the last time.

_ Together we're unlimited _  
_ Together we'll be the greatest team there's ever been _

**Two and a half years later...**

Serena had gone through this process hundreds of times by now: sitting very still while a makeup artist painted all her visible flesh a vivid green. It was a ritual by now, Serena Campbell disappearing and Elphaba Thropp taking her place. But tonight the actress herself felt very close to the surface, her emotions cresting and waning like the tide, because this was to be her last performance.

“Don’t cry,” the makeup artist warned. “Donna Jackson blubbed like a baby on her last night and we had to do the makeup three times.”

Serena barked out a laugh. “Ah, well...I’ll certainly try my best.”

“Knock knock,” called a familiar voice. “Avon calling.”

Serena looked in the mirror and watched Dom, Cam and Bernie barrelling through the door. She smiled, then immediately schooled her features straight again when the makeup artist tutted. “What are you three doing here? I thought you were working tonight Cam?”

Cameron had finished the final year of his medical degree and graduated with flying colours. He’d recently completed his F1 year and had just started a general surgical rotation at the Royal London.

“Swapped my shift,” he said, flopping down on a spare chair. “Couldn’t miss this. I hear it’s going to be quite something.”

Bernie grinned. “As for Dom and I, we thought you might need a distraction.”

Serena’s eyes softened perceptibly as her gaze met Bernie’s in the mirror. “Thanks, love,” she said softly, watching as her partner’s cheeks coloured in pleasure.

They spent the rest of Serena’s final makeup session chatting and joking and annoying the makeup artist, but she finished at around the same time as she usually did and said that at least the distraction had avoided any waterworks.

“You ready for this, Campbell?” Bernie murmured in Serena’s ear as they headed towards the place backstage where Hanssen had asked them all to meet for one last team talk. Cam had slipped away to take his place in the audience.

“As I’ll ever be,” she whispered back, and reached out to take Bernie’s hand.

The others were all there when they arrived and Hanssen called them to order quickly. “Well, here we are,” he said, folding his hands neatly behind his back. “Our final performance. I consider it a great fortune that we have all stayed together for the full length of this run. I should like to thank all of you for your hard work and your professionalism.” He coughed as if to clear his throat, though it had sounded perfectly fine to Serena’s ear. “I believe this is the finest cast in all London,” he said, his voice a little softer now.

“With the finest director,” Serena interjected, to the rousing agreement of the rest of the cast. Hanssen looked embarrassed, but perhaps a little pleased as well, underneath all that Swedish efficiency.

“Thank-you, Ms Campbell,” he said, inclining his head towards her, then returned his attention to the full cast. “Now. We have a packed crowd tonight. Let’s give them a show to remember.”

* * * * *

The entire audience were on their feet before the last notes of the final song had finished reverberating through the theatre. It had been a triumph, perhaps their best performance since that very first one, so long ago. Serena had somehow managed to keep on top of her emotions throughout, but now that it was over she found herself blubbing like a little girl and needing Bernie to support her as they went out to take their bow together.

It was a bit of a tradition for cast members on their last nights to talk to the audience for a little while. Serena listened in a daze to the rest of the cast making their speeches followed by the laughter and applause of the audience, and then suddenly it was her turn.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I’m not sure I can make it through this without some very ugly crying.” The audience laughed and whistled and hooted. “Oh, don’t be nice to me, you’ll make it worse!”

Bernie slipped her arm around her shoulder. “Chin up, darling,” she murmured. “We’ve got this.”

Serena smiled and nodded, strengthened as always by her partner’s steady support. “Right,” she whispered back, then raised her voice again to address the audience. “I don’t think I can ever really explain what being Elphaba has meant to me,” she began. “I was where you are on the very first night  _ Wicked _ was performed in London all those years ago and it was this show, this role, that made up my mind that this was what I wanted to do. I’d like to thank our director, Henrik Hanssen, and our casting director, Angus Farrell, for giving me the chance to make all my dreams come true.”

The audience cheered and she found herself scanning the crowd, wondering if there were any young girls out there being inspired by her the way she’d been inspired by Idina Menzel all those years ago. The thought made her almost dizzy, but she really, really hoped so.

“Of course,” she continued, looking up into Bernie’s smiling face, “I got more out of this show than just a dream role.” She cupped her partner’s cheek with her palm, her face softening into a fond expression when she felt Bernie leaning into it. “I also found the love of my life.”

The audience erupted in cheers, which was fortunate because they both needed a moment to blink away happy tears. Bernie hid her face in Serena’s neck for a second before straightening up and taking over the speech. “What a fortunate coincidence,” she said. “I met the love of my life in this show too.”

“Gosh, what are the odds?” Serena replied, over the laughter of the audience.

When the background noise had quiteded to a low rumble, Bernie went on. “I decided to audition for this role on a bit of a whim,” she said. “I’d heard on the grapevine that they were casting so I called up and basically said  _ Bernie Wolfe here. Give us a job.” _

“Luckily you’re just that good,” Serena added.

Bernie laughed. “Well. Lucky is certainly right because this has been the best experience. I’ve met so many friends, some of whom I’ll even keep in touch with when this is over.” She grinned as the audience laughed. “And I’ve even acquired a new brother somehow or other,” she continued, waving towards a blushing Dom who was radiating happiness, “after this one finally made an honest man of my brother Cam last month.”

The whole audience whooped and roared as Dom took a bow, then cheered even more when the spotlight picked out Cam in his seat in the stalls.

“But most of all,” Bernie continued when they were quiet again, “I found Serena.” She looked into her partner’s shining eyes, smiling as she took her hands. “I’ll never be able to express how grateful I am to you. You changed my life. You made me better than I ever thought I could be.” She squeezed her hands gently. “I love you.”

The audience reached new heights of frenetic applause as they leaned forward and kissed, this time as themselves, not their characters. They stood with their arms around each other for long moments afterwards, waiting for the crowd to finally calm down.

“Right,” Serena said, when they were finally quiet enough. “That’s enough soppy stuff. Tell me, do we have any Gelphie fans in the crowd tonight?” It was a rhetorical question, because by this point in the show’s life, no-one came to see  _ Wicked  _ at the Apollo if they weren’t at least open to the idea of Gelphie. Still, the audience responded to her, cheering and whistling. “Excellent!” she continued. “We’ve prepared a little farewell for you, my darlings. Let’s rewind…” She mimed looking at a watch. “An hour and a half?”

That was the rest of the cast’s cue to leave the stage. The house lights darkened again and the audience rumbled in anticipation and delight at this unexpected treat.

The backstage crew had been working unnoticed in the background and it was the work of seconds now to put the finishing touches on the set. Suddenly, they were plunged back into the Act One climax. Serena stepped into a waiting spotlight.

_ “Something has changed within me,”  _ she sang, and the crowd roared.  _ “Something is not the same. I’m through with playing by the rules of someone else’s game.” _

She’d sung the song hundreds of times but tonight the atmosphere was electric. Her voice soared as she belted out every note, floating and flying through the theatre like Elphaba herself on her broom.

_ “Too long I’ve been afraid of losing love I guess I’ve lost,”  _ she sang, holding her hand out to Bernie who - in a break with the script - grasped it tightly and then sang the next line with her.  _ “Well if that’s love it comes at much too high a cost!” _

From then on the song was a duet. Serena, Bernie and Dom had worked out a new soprano line for Bernie that weaved effortlessly into Serena’s melody, picking out the highlights and making them soar ever higher.

“Well, are you coming?” Serena said breathlessly when they reached the song’s halfway point. The music fell away to almost nothing as Bernie pretended to consider the proposal.

“Let’s see,” she said, holding out her hands in front of as if weighing her options. “I could stay and help to prop up a fraud and a charlatan who’s using the tactics of a totalitarian despot to turn the Merry Old Land of Oz into an obvious analogue for Nazi Germany…” She paused and tilted her head to one side as if giving the matter serious thought. “Or I could fly off with my ambiguously gay love interest and do...uhm  _ magic  _ with her.” The audience laughed while she pretended to give the two choices serious consideration. Then a wicked smile spread over her face. “Is there room on that broom for two, Elphie?”

The piece of apparatus that was used to raise the actress playing Elphaba into the air at the end of Act One was something like a modified cherry picker. The two of them giggled as they threw their arms around each other and arranged themselves safely within the device’s enclosure. The audience whopped and cheered as they were raised up in the air and finished the song, their voices soaring and merging in perfect harmony.

“Oh, Elphie,” Bernie exclaimed when the song was over. “Is that a rainbow?”

Serena nodded. “I do believe it is, my sweet.”

Bernie face split in an excited grin. “Ooh, can we fly over it?”

The audience were still laughing as they were lowered back to the stage and released themselves. Then the opening bars of another song began to play and the two of them fell to their knees in the middle of the stage while the cheers of the crowd reverberated around them.

_ “Kiss me too fiercely, hold me too tight,”  _ Serena sang, barely audible over the excitement of the audience.  _ “I need help believing you’re with me tonight.”  _ She buried her hands in Bernie’s hair, staring at her in joyous wonder.  _ “My wildest dreamings could not foresee, lying beside you with you wanting me.” _

The song had been transposed into a different key so that Bernie could take what should have been Dom’s part. It was still a challenge for her though, and it had been tough in rehearsal to get it quite right. Tonight, however, she was perfect.  _ “Maybe I’m brainless, maybe I’m wise. But you’ve got me seeing through different eyes. Somehow I’ve fallen under your spell, and you’ve got me feeling it’s up that I fell.” _

Their voices joined once again for their last duet, rising and falling together, finally fulfilling the promise of their first song together all those years ago.

_ “Just for this moment, as long as you’re mine! Come be how we want to and see how bright we shine! Borrow the moonlight until it is through...”  _ They leaned forward, letting their foreheads bump together.  _ “And know I’ll be here holding you. As long as you’re mine…” _

The music fell away. Bernie was grinning madly and almost forgot to say her line. She remembered just in time. “What is it?” she said, her voice husky and rich.

“It’s just,” Serena replied, “for the first time I feel…” Her eyes danced as she dropped her voice to its lowest register. She practically purred her final line, the last word she’d ever say as Elphaba. 

“Wicked.”

With that, she cupped Bernie’s face in her palms and pulled her into a kiss that was equal parts passion and love, and no-one - least of all the two of them - knew how much of it was Elphaba and Glinda and how much the actresses who played them. Perhaps it didn’t really matter.

* * * * *

Two hours later, after the cast had drunk their champagne and taken off their costumes and said their farewells to their dressing rooms for the last time, Bernie and Serena walked hand in hand through the stage door. To their surprise, a few die-hard fans were still waiting, huddled together in the cold.

“Oh, what a lovely surprise,” Serena exclaimed, delighted as always to meet her public. The novelty of having fans never had worn off for her.

Bernie was, as ever, a little more reserved, but her face lit up when she spotted a familiar lurking figure. “Hayley!” she exclaimed, loping over to her and grinning.

Hayley looked quietly stunned. “You...you remember me?” she stammered.

“Of course!” Bernie said. “Did you finally get to see the show?”

Hayley nodded, smiling. “Yes, we were there tonight.” She held out her hand and an equally nervous looking girl of about the same age as her took it, moulding herself to Hayley’s side. “This is my girlfriend, Lauren.”

Bernie was bursting with pride. “Oh, I’m so pleased for you Hayley.”

The girl ducked her head, blushing a little. “We met in my university drama society,” she explained. “We did an amateur production of  _ Mama Mia _ together.”

“That’s fantastic.” Bernie waved Serena over. “Sweetheart, come and meet Hayley. D’you remember, we saw her here a couple of years ago?”

Serena dutifully made her way over, slipping an arm round Bernie’s waist automatically. “Yes,” she said, remembering how Bernie had explained later that same night how important meeting Hayley had been to her, the epiphany for which their few minutes together had been the catalyst.

They both signed her programme, leaving personalised messages that Bernie was sure Hayley planned to cherish for the rest of her life. Serena scrawled  _ Gelphie Forever  _ over a page inside the programme that had a still of her and Bernie looking longingly into each other’s eyes.

“It’s a bit sad, isn’t it?” Hayley said, as they were preparing to leave. “I mean...your run being over.”

Serena leaned against Bernie and smiled. “Yes,” she agreed. “A little.” She nestled a little closer to her partner’s side. “Leaving Elphaba behind was always going to be hard. But…” She leaned forward conspiratorially, her eyes twinkling. “I get to take Glinda with me.”

She winked and Hayley blushed, her cheekbones turning a violent shade of pink. Lauren laughed and tugged on her hand. “Come on you,” she said. “I’d better get you home before you fall in love.”

When all the fans were gone, Bernie turned and took Serena in her arms. They gazed into each other’s eyes, dark and shining, bathed in the light of the illuminated stage door sign.

“It’s true, you know,” Serena said softly. “We might be leaving Elphaba and Glinda behind, but you and me…” She sighed happily. “We go on and on.”

Bernie’s lips quirked upwards in a smile. “For good,” she said, earning a little groan from Serena, who slid a hand into her hair and tugged her forward.

“That was really cheesy,” she murmured before capturing her lips in a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are at the end, at last. This has been the longest and most involved thing I've ever written. I'd like to thank my wife for putting up with me writing this thing nearly every night for the last three months. But I got her into Berena too, so go and [read her stories](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kooili/pseuds/kooili), they're excellent! I'd also like to thank everyone who's left kudos, commented, or even just quietly read along. You guys are the best.

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to [booasaur](http://booasaur.tumblr.com) for enabling me, [tothewesternsky](http://tothewesternsky.tumblr.com) for her incomparable Wicked expertise, and [vast_difference](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vast_difference/pseuds/vast_difference) for musical consulting duties.


End file.
